Dad
by Jesuslovesmarina
Summary: Daddyhawk! with SPOILERS for CACW. Clint fights to bring his family back together again, while Wanda struggles to find out who her powers, new family, and exile from America have made her. In the meantime, the Hulk is floating in space and Secretary Ross, with someone Clint thought he lost over a decade ago, make plans to destroy mutants, Inhumans, and Avengers in one fell sweep.
1. Can I Call You Dad?

**A/N: So I've re-watched Clint's entry to the Tower like, fifty times now on YouTube since seeing the movie this morning. It finally struck me that he was just doing what any dad would do upon confronting their budding young daughter's overly-manipulative boyfriend… Not that I don't totally ship Wanda and Vision, but DaddyHawk is SO CUTE!**

 **~Dad~**

Clint was driving. Wanda was sitting in the passenger's seat. Scott Lang was in the back of the van, snoozing away after the long trip to their mutually-agreed-upon pick-up location.

The two up front sat in silence.

For three _long_ hours.

"You can go to sleep if you want to," Clint finally, out of sheer, fidgeting desperation from its being so quiet, broke the standoff.

"Thank you for your permission," Wanda replied dryly, staring straight ahead.

"Gee," Clint's brow wrinkled, "I thought you'd be happy I rescued you from a basically lock-down situation back there."

"I am happy to be out of there, yes," she replied tersely. Then she swallowed hard. "But did you really need to electrocute my boyfriend and then purposefully allow him to attack you just so I'd lash out at him?"

Clint's jaw dropped slightly. "Wait— _is_ he your boyfriend?"

"Well, he certainly isn't going to want to be _now!_ "

"So… he's your _would-be_ boyfriend?" he was still just as incredulous.

If Wanda wasn't so mad she would think it was funny. "He's my 'person of interest'. Or WAS. So he was being a jerk, and keeping me locked up in my room," she acknowledged with a shrug, "but he was doing it to protect me and because Stark told him to. You didn't need to make me bury him under five thousand tons of rubble."

"I don't think, if we're talking about tons, that the number would be anywhere near the thousands in that particular situa…"

"Really, Clint?" Wanda interrupted, eyes flashing.

He gave her a blank stare.

She sighed heavily. "I'm glad you came and got me out. You're right, I did need to get up off my ass…"

"I'm really sorry I taught you that word in English," Clint muttered under his breath.

"Ah, actually, my brother did," she replied with a saucy smirk. "And I am glad to see you again after you've been gone all this time, and I'm more than happy to being going with you to help Cap—"

"Just keep laying it on," Clint raised his eyebrows.

"— _But_ I really can take care of myself, and it's hard for me to show you that when you're being so protective of me," she finally finished in a huff.

Clint's lips twitched. He idly messed with the controls for the rear windshield wipers for a second before answering. "Well," his voice was quiet, "I already said, I owe you a debt."

"Natasha says all the time that she owes you a debt, and you say all the time that you owe me a debt, and that is the biggest bag of bullcrap I have ever heard!" she exclaimed.

Clint's eyebrows shot up and he looked over at her. For a moment, even though they were going sixty miles an hour down the highway, he could swear there were crickets chirping in the background.

"If this was about a debt, you would do things I asked you to do," Wanda continued. "Not things I never even dreamed of you doing for me."

Clint's Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed, thinking carefully before replying. "Well, it's something your brother would do, isn't it?"

She stared at him.

"Electrocuting your would-be, maybe, possible, boyfriend of interest?"

Wanda looked down at her fingernails, biting her lip.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was low.

"That is something he would _probably_ do, yes."

"Look," Clint sighed, "When Nat and I talk about owing each other a debt, what we mean is that we've made such unprecedented sacrifices for one another that we're basically family. We don't keep track. We're just saying that we'll always help each other out whenever the other needs it, even if they don't always have our back in return. We've invested in each other, so we care. We don't want to see anything bad happen to the other person if we can possibly help it." He exhaled through his nose, turning to look at her briefly. "That's why I want to protect you," he admitted quietly. "I know what it's like to not have a dad growing up."

Wanda's eyes shot up, studying him as he spoke.

"And what it's like to manage that, _and_ a hidden talent. I know what it's like to lose a brother, although you were a lot closer to yours than I was to mine," he added, with a tangible sound of regret in his tone. "But your brother saved my life, and I care about you all the more. Because of that, I'm _always_ going to hurt anyone who tries to come after you or treat you like you aren't the amazingly wonderful, talented young woman you are. And I'm gonna do that whether you like it or not."

Wanda gulped, her throat feeling strained from the huge lump she was trying to swallow. She grabbed a tissue from the glovebox and blew her nose loudly, only to find she was crying into it, and not very neatly.

"Oh—okay," Clint heaved a slightly panicked sigh when he saw she was crying. "Okay. Sorry. You—ah, you okay? I shouldn't have said that much, I guess."

Wanda nodded straight ahead, busy trying to clear her nose and eyes both at the same time.

Clint, unknowingly, just made matters worse by watching her the entire time until she was finally more in control than before.

She cleared her throat loudly. "Sorry," she managed to croak out.

Clint's features softened as he continued to drive.

"Clint?" she sniffled again. "can I—uh— can I maybe call you 'Dad'?"

At first, there was no response. Clint was processing.

Wanda allowed for that time, which she chalked up, internally, to his being really old.

Then his chin started to work a little, just wrinkling up a little bit, and he started to squint and scrunch up the rest of his face a couple of times. "You got any more of those tissues?" he finally sniffed.

The van continued to power down the dark highway, taillights lighting up the path behind them.

"We might need to make a detour."


	2. The Raft

**A/N: Wow, I am so excited by how much people like this story! So here is the sequel. Enjoy and mebbe leave a note? :D Thanks to DarylDixon'sLover, Guest, helloyesimhere, Thegirlwhoneverforgot (hi!), Aunt Siduri, MagsSky, and I-am-a-Ice-cream-lover for reviewing last time. Y'all are amazing 3**

 **The Raft**

"I don't get it. You've got a wife and kids. Why didn't you think of them before you chose the wrong side?"

There were times when Stark was so clueless it was almost painful to sit and watch his mouth move.

And Clint got it. He really did. In Tony's lifetime there hadn't been much opportunity for emotional growth. Since Afghanistan, he'd been playing catch-up in an attempt to process a whole load of trauma he hadn't been prepared to deal with.

Clint had had, at least, a brother while growing up. That, and his common sense hadn't been stunted by a ridiculous amount of wealth. (Natasha might disagree with that one. Clint _had_ common sense, he just didn't always _act_ on it, but that was usually on purpose).

Unfortunately, Stark's emotional illiteracy didn't make his comments any less offensive.

Clint laughed, low and menacing. It was fun to see Tony look nervous. If he thought Clint had a screw loose, so be it.

 _Yeah_ , he did have a wife and kids, _didn't_ he? He'd _totally_ forgotten.

Laura was the one who _told him_ to go after Wanda! Because the kid was part of their family, too. Why was that so difficult for Tony to grasp?

"You better watch your back with this guy," he slammed two palms up against the plexiglass.

Guilt was welling up in him for getting Wanda into this. For getting her to break the law in the first place. That should have been _his_ job.

She hadn't been prepared to fight Vision. Maybe if she'd stayed with the android, she would've been safer. Clint hated wondering if he'd made a mistake, and if he made one this time, it could cost Wanda her life.

"Chance he's gonna break for it!" he called after Stark.

He was getting Wanda out of here.

… … … … …

Later, a young guard appeared, carting around plates to all the cells.

He was just sliding a plate under Clint's door when he froze, then looked up at him through the glass. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five.

"Where is she?" Clint met his gaze evenly with his own. "Come on, we're both countrymen here."

The young soldier swallowed hard, absentmindedly adjusting his cap. "What is she, your baby doll?" the barb wasn't spoken in a mocking way. More like the kid just wanted to get his confidence up.

"Look, this ain't that complicated," Clint adjusted his posture so he looked less menacing. "You got orders not to give me any information. Apparently, I'm crazy, and a terrorist, for protecting _Captain America_." He emphasized the ludicrousy of that last point.

The guard shifted, unsure of what he was allowed to say.

"I just wanna know if she's okay." He felt a lead weight roll around in his stomach.

The kid looked away briefly, swallowing. "Yeah, man, she's fine. No one's gonna—hurt her."

Clint's eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me. I've been a spy about as long as you've been alive."

The guard straightened his jacket, gazing at the floor. "They've got her in a straightjacket. Shock collar, isolation. They're trying to keep her contained. She doesn't make any fuss, for the most part, unless the boys're trying to touch her. She's afraid of them, and they're afraid of her."

Clint felt his gut clench. "And you're not? Afraid of her, I mean?"

"Well," the guard replied slowly, turning to leave, "I _was_. Now that you mention it—maybe she's just a kid?"

"Yeah," Clint pressed his fingers up against his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "I would know. That's what she is."

He'd never felt so helpless before.

… … … … …

There was always a way out.

That was what Clint had been taught early in his SHIELD training and learned to be true on a number of occasions.

To their advantage, the current situation was:

Not a prison in sub-zero, Eastern European temperatures while their bruised and mottled bodies huddled together on rat breeding floors, and

Not a mob boss' sweltering basement in Central America where they were kept without food or water for days on end.

To their disadvantage, it was the most secure facility Clint had ever been placed in.

Some disadvantage.

There were two openings in Clint's cell that he could see while lying down, eyes wide open, pretending to be perfectly calm and relaxed despite the fact that the harsh white light never shut off to allow them to sleep.

For security reasons, they didn't want to so much as dim the lights the guards used to monitor them via security camera.

It was as if they knew Clint's history, forward and backward. Did they even know how many times he'd broken out of highly secure hostage situations, he wondered?

One opening was the door and the other was the toilet. Even considering he could fit through the hole after removing the porcelain (or in this case, plastic) throne from where it was bolted to the floor, the sewers in these underwater prisons usually led to locations that were; well, underwater. Not likely to help with the survival aspect of this plan.

The door would have to suffice.

As he stared up at the single, blinding lightbulb overhead, a small smile crept onto his face.

Knocking out the source of their precious visibility would surely bring a few people running.

He settled back with his hands under his head, closed his eyes, and began counting until just the right moment arrived.

… … … … …

"All guards upstairs are accounted for," Hope Van Dyne announced in a hushed whisper, materializing in full size as she fell into step beside Steve.

"No alarms set off just yet," he replied, nodding. He started to hold up his shield, remembering with a pang that he no longer had it. The two of them prepared to open the door to the cell block where his teammates were being kept. "This is almost too easy—" he began.

 _CRASH!_

Steve and Hope exchanged a bewildered glance. Suddenly, gunshots and yelling began coming from the other side of the door.

"Was that us?" Steve asked.

"RRRNG! RRRNG! RRRNG! RRRNG!" red lights started flashing and alarms began going off overhead.

Hope frowned wearily. "That had better not be Scott."

"On my count. One, two—"

They burst through the door to find chaos in the first cell. Five guards were gathered around, seven more already on the ground, a light was out and one prisoner in blue in the middle of it all, fists flying in all directions.

"Clint?!" Steve exclaimed, starting forward but stopping himself as a shower of broken glass sprayed through the doorway, followed by two more guards with bleeding faces who dropped promptly to the ground.

"What the heck is going on out there?" Sam's voice bellowed from the far cell.

"Yeah!" came Scott's voice from in between. "Come on, Clint, you can't start a prison break without us!"

"You get them out," Steve motioned to Wasp. "I'll get these guys off of Clint."

He conked the skulls of two guards together, disarming one of them and using the butt of the gun to take out the last guy.

Clint stood, breathing heavily as he leaned against the doorway, clutching a bloody arm as he did so. "You know, I had this all under control," he wheezed, raising his eyebrows at Steve.

"Yeah, only you totally screwed with our plan," Steve couldn't suppress a grin. "Now this whole place is on lockdown. We'll never get out of it."

"Hey," Clint panted, following him out of the cell, "Not my fault you have—impeccable timing. Come on, we've got to get to Wanda."

"She's not in here?" Steve wrinkled his eyebrows concernedly, looking around the room, just as the others walked up.

"Cap," Sam announced in a grave tone, standing at attention in his blue prison uniform, "I claim seniority. I am _never_ bunking with this guy."

"Which one?"

"Neither of them."

Hope folded her arms across her chest, glaring at Scott as her wings beat gently behind her. "I must say, when I envisioned my first mission in the suit, I did NOT think it would involve breaking you out of prison. Again," she added in a dry tone.

"I'm sorry, did you wake up with that attitude this morning or were you always like this?" Scott snorted.

"Avengers!" Steve barked.

"We're Avengers?" Scott's eyes widened as he turned to Sam, who ignored him.

"Cut the chit-chat until we find Wanda. Everyone follow Clint."

"Who is already gone," Scott pointed out.

"Then follow the trail of blood," Steve retorted, gesturing in the direction they'd came in. "Let's move!"

They entered the control room as a group, finding Clint hunched over the main computer display. "We can't get to her," he bit out, noticing the others. "Her whole cell block's locked down."

"Scott can take care of it," Hope reassured him.

"Wait, what?"

"I thought you had a Master's in electrical engineering."

"I have a Master's in electrical engineering, yes, not three Ph.D.'s in electrical engineering! This is, like, nuclear missile-level security!"

"What exactly is the point of you?" Sam jabbed him in the ribs.

"I shrink!"

"She shrinks," Sam pointed at Wasp. "And flies. And is a whole lot cuter than you are."

"Will you all just shut up for a second?" Clint belted out, knuckles going white as he gripped the display desk in front of him.

The room went silent.

They all watched as Clint lowered his head, planting his arms on the table and taking a long, deep breath through his nose before speaking again. "You've got to get her out of there, Scott," his voice broke and he gestured to the security camera screen.

Wanda was being surrounded by armed guards, huddling into a corner of her cell as they jabbed her with their weapons and yelled. They were panicking because of the lockdown. As they watched, one of them activated her shock collar and her mouth opened in a silent scream as she fell the floor.

"I don't care how much you _don't_ know," Clint went on, his voice thick with emotion. "But it's not an option to leave without her, all right? And if we stay much longer, they'll find a way to take us all out. Or send reinforcements."

Scott, jaw working slowly, stepped up to the computer beside him.

Clint met his eyes, determination sparking in them. "Figure it out," he ordered. "You're the only one that can."

Scott nodded and slipped into a chair, talking in a low voice with Hope and Sam. Hope shrank within seconds, prepared to dive into the electrical systems and follow Scott's lead. Sam pulled out as many files as he could find that might be helpful.

Clint was hunched over the viewscreen, a murderous look in his eyes as the guards continued to taunt, scare, and abuse Wanda.

Steve noticed and walked over to him, grimacing as he watched his young teammate be treated like an animal. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he assumed they were threatening her, calling her names, demanding to know if _she_ somehow had locked them down there and set off all the alarms.

"We'll get her out, Barton," he said quietly. "You have my word on that."

Clint didn't answer right at first. When he did, he changed the subject. "Where's the shield?"

"Returned to its maker," Steve sighed. "Apparently, it was never really mine."

"Stark get away?"

"You think I should have killed him?" It was an honest question.

"It's hard to have a little perspective when you're watching something like _this_ happen," Clint gestured bitterly toward the screen. "But I guess—" his voice softened. "Nat's keeping an eye on him. Guy's gotta learn somehow. She'll make it happen."

"She helped us get away."

Clint chuckled slightly. "Doesn't surprise me at all."

"Did you meet her when she was Wanda's age?"

"Younger. A lot younger." Clint sighed. "I guess I just— have a soft spot for formidable young Eastern European assassins who've been held and trained against their will."

"You have a soft spot? Never would have guessed that," Steve teased.

One of the guards on-screen shouted something extra-forcefully and kicked Wanda in the stomach. Clint's expression went dark.

Steve was silent for a moment, watching beside him as the others continued to work. "Do me one favor?" he asked quietly, after a while.

"What's that, Cap?" Clint's voice was as low as he'd ever heard it.

Steve's jaw twitched. "In the scenario where we're charging into a room full of well-armed and skittish national guardsmen on high alert, let me go ahead of you?"

Clint huffed a laugh. "Yeah, that might be less suicidal. You go ahead, I'll shoot 'em down. Then we both grab her and high tail it out of there."

"You're not going to shoot down American soldiers?" Steve arched an eyebrow.

"Nope," Clint's jaw set firmly. "Not gonna kill 'em. They can suffer instead."

… … … … …

Time passed slowly as Scott and Hope worked, Sam watched the radar for any signs of incoming reinforcements, and Steve and Clint went back to tie up the guys they'd knocked unconscious in the previous cell block.

They tied a makeshift bandage around Clint's arm, which had been nicked by a bullet during the brawl. Then, once they'd readied a few weapons (Clint cared more about which ones he used than Steve did), they waited.

"Okay, we have some good news, and we have some bad news," Scott announced at last, causing everyone to turn and look at him.

"Good news first," Clint prompted.

"The good news is that the cell block SHOULD open, any second now. The bad news is that we have helicopters on our six."

"They're set to arrive around the same time as Cat-Boy's," Sam continued.

"Which means we have about ten minutes and a possible firefight coming our way," Hope finished up with a grim expression.

"We can deal with that later. For right now, let's get these doors open," Steve instructed.

Clint lined up behind him, a short-range rifle hoisted on his shoulder. The second the doors opened, he sprinted down the hallway after Steve and began opening fire on the guards as they appeared.

Kidney shots, most of them. Enough to make most of these boys want to curl up in a ball and die rather than fight back, but not enough to actually let that happen.

The last kid to come up was a familiar face. Clint almost grinned when he saw him. "Sorry, pal," he followed after Steve disarmed him, conking him over the head with the butt of the rifle and watching him fall. "You've got promise. Make it count."

Hopefully one of his comrades wouldn't guilt him into donating a kidney. As far as Clint was concerned, the kid could keep his internal organs a while longer.

They made it into the cell block, only to find two guards huddled behind Wanda inside her cell, holding the terrified girl with a rifle to her head, completely helpless to use her powers.

"Put the gun down or I'll shoot her!" the man yelled. He was probably more afraid than any of them in the room.

Steve stopped, hesitated.

Clint didn't flinch.

Both guards were missing their wrists within seconds and the situation was reversed. The gun fell and went off at Steve's feet, but it just missed his boot. In an instant, Steve had leaped over Wanda and knocked both men unconscious.

Clint felt something unfamiliar prick at his eyes as he sprinted to Wanda's side, grabbing a knife he'd stolen and cutting her loose from the collar first and then the straitjacket.

Overwhelmed, her hair mussed and weak with relief, Wanda burst into tears. "C—Clint?" she gasped against his side. Her shoulders shook with sobs.

"It's okay," Clint murmured against her ear, feeling every bit as drained as she was. He cupped his arm around her head, holding her close to him. "It's okay, I'm here. Daddy's here, Daddy's gotcha. You're gonna be alright, I promise." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, feeling his own hands shaking as he held her. "You're gonna be okay."

Steve was watching them, eyes suspiciously going red. "We have to go," he said in a low voice.

"C'mon," Clint helped her sit up, wiping her eyes with his dirty thumbs. It left smudges of grime across her cheeks, but she sniffed, gulped, and nodded. "You wanna walk or you want me to carry you?"

She hiccupped and almost laughed, wiping her eyes again. "You really are trying to be like Pietro, aren't you, Old Man?"

Clint laughed shakily. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't call me that. Lone exception, you got that?"

Wanda stood up on her own, arms wrapped around his middle more for comfort than for support.

She was a strong girl. She'd been tortured and abused, and here she was, determined to keep standing.

Sam ran down the corridor. "Helicopter's coming in faster than we anticipated! We might not make it before our ride gets here!"

Steve turned to Clint. "You think we should sink this thing and hope they don't find a way to come after us underwater?" he asked seriously. "We could probably hold out for at least a couple days before finding another way out."

"Nah," Clint instinctively shuddered at the idea. "Better get out now, while we can. We can take care of a few helicopters."

"Not if they're firing at us," Steve furrowed his eyebrows.

Clint merely smiled.

Wanda straightened beside him. "Maybe we should rephrase the expression," she said with a dry smile. "I think _I_ can take care of a few helicopters."

"That's a big job," Steve immediately sounded concerned. "You sure you're up for that?"

Wanda's eyes softened. Her skin grew warm and glowed red at the fingertips as she assessed her strength. "Maybe it has been a pretty awful day…"

Wanda sounded almost _cheerful._

Clint's grip around her tightened.

He was so proud of her it hurt.

"…But I still know how to do my job."


	3. Later That Week

**A/N: Still not changing the status of this story to 'In-Progress', because I don't have any specific plan lined up! However, here was a request to see Tony's response to the camera footage of their escape. Enjoy!**

 **Also, you can follow me for more Clint Barton madness at robinhoodofourgeneration dot tumblr dot com**

 **I decided to reply to reviews on Chapter 2!**

 **Qweb: Oh yes (: I wanted to show that Wanda kind of gets her scariness from him, rather than just being a damsel in distress!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: I'm so glad you thought so! Team Cap is about to get even more badass now that they're on the run, I think!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: I adore Hope! And I figured Steve would need help, ya know?**

 **Ranger's Scop: Awesome! I'm happy you liked it.**

 **Theicemenace: Oh dear, I'm so sorry/not sorry if I made you cry *winks* I agree, I think Wanda would call her birth parents Mother and Father, but Clint's a distinctly different person from them and I think it also reflects that she's trying her best to blend into American culture.**

 **MagsSky: Your wish is my command! Not a heavy chapter, but hopefully more will be coming soon.**

Later That Week…

"They got away," Ross indicated the image on the screen. His tone was grave.

Nearby, Tony watched with outward indifference as the footage from the prison escape played in fast-motion.

Clint started a prison brawl, Cap showed up with some girl dressed as a bee, everyone kicked ass, sat around in the control room for a while as the alarms went off, and they descended into the basement to break out Wanda before exiting into a waiting helicopter. Wakanda's signature crest was emblazoned on the tail.

"Not a surprise," he shrugged to the general. "I mean, they _are_ Avengers. Or were, until about a week ago."

"This is a bigger problem than we realized," Ross' bushy eyebrows descended over his sharp gaze. He leaned forward, examining the footage more closely. "Now that the traitors are on the loose, they're even more of a menace to society. If the most secure prison in the world cannot contain them, then a better source of containment needs to be built," he eyed Tony meaningfully.

Tony frowned. "With—all due respect, Sir," he began, then swallowed. "Even if I could build a containment cell that could hold _all_ the Avengers, wouldn't that be just the same as killing them? I mean, they can't do anything from in there. There's no term limit you set on them, no trial to determine the length of the sentence; what would be the point of going after them again?"

"Are you saying you think they should be left at large, or are you saying you don't know if you CAN bring them in?" Ross queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Tony fumbled for the words, doing his best to appear outwardly calm. He really didn't know what he was trying to say. All he wanted to say is—was that something here, whatever it was, was wrong. "All I'm saying is—if they cause any trouble, we're gonna know about it. It'll be everywhere. Television, cameras, news periodicals, YouTube. If they don't, I don't think we're prepared to deal with everything they and the government of Wakanda have to throw at us. At least, not right now. Maybe it's better to let sleeping dogs lie?"

Ross sighed heavily. "An interesting perspective," he granted Tony. "One that leaves the nation at risk for an act of revenge, I'm afraid. None of your former teammates were particularly happy, I'll take it, that they were locked up in that containment facility, and Sergeant Barnes is still unpredictable. We shall have to see what the World Security Council agrees to, and then we'll take action."

Without another word, the general turned and left the room, barely nodding to Tony as a farewell.

Tony ran a hand nervously through his hair as soon as he was gone, then turned and surveyed the footage again. He tried not to gulp as Wanda writhed in torturous agony, later shaking in Clint's arms as he scooped her up, a possessive gleam in his eyes.

Clint had done what Tony failed to do.

He drew people in despite a gruff exterior, while Tony invited people into his life only to send them packing when they learned what he was really like.

Tony knew it was wrong and uncalled for, but—

He was jealous.

Jealous of the life Clint had managed to build, jealous of the family he'd created and the love and support they shared for each other.

Jealous that a guy like Clint could give his wife and kids a farm in the peaceful upstate when he couldn't even give Pepper enough reason to stick around.

But certain feelings outweighed jealousy, and those were the feelings of being alone.

Tired.

Hurt.

Grieving.

Empty.

Tony didn't know what to do with his life. He'd made it so far with Pepper, with the company, and with his personal growth since the promise he made in a cave not so long ago.

A friend, who was now dead. He was the one who had told Tony what to live for. More than his father had ever bothered to.

Yet everything he'd tried to do had slipped through his fingers. He was lost, right back where he started.

The only difference was that he wasn't drinking it off. Instead, he was just wallowing in misery. An improvement, not by much.

In the peace and quiet of the observation room, with no other staff members around, he laid his head down on one arm across the control panel, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw so hard it sent aching ripples up and down his temple.

He refused to give up just yet.


	4. Elephant In the Room

**A/N: Thank you all for the amazing responses! Follows, favorites—your love for this story makes me love it more, too. We are officially In-Progress! (that being said, I'm very much taking prompts and ideas for continuation. If ye be so inclined, Help!)**

 **Gandalf537: Wow, thank you! I hope you like this chap as well. Thanks for the review!**

 **Silverblondhairedlover: OMG I am so thrilled! Thanks for the lovely review. I know, I can't wait either *groans* but at least we get two movies in one next time haha**

 **Shuuwai: I am SO GLAD! I wanted to show a little more depth on Tony's perspective, error-laden as it may have been. He's definitely TRYING to do the right thing… and failing, which doesn't encourage him very much, understandably. And here is more to the story, hope you like it!**

 **Salwyn77: Yay! I'm glad you like it! Thx so much for the review!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: I think he was, too. But maybe he'll eventually realize that himself? Hm. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **MagsSky: Here you are! I agree, the last chapter was not the same without them. It was actually supposed to be for a separate story originally.**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: Thank you! I owe much of that to a meme I saw on how Wanda was treated totally contrary to the rules of the Geneva Convention. Yeah, I doubt anyone's jealous of comic book Hawkeye *shakes head* dear oh dear, that boy. Thanks for noticing the part on Yinsen.**

Elephant In the Room

Clint was sleeping as hard as a rock when the sound a (very expensive) door creaking open drifted into his subconscious. He rolled over, his brain refusing to wake up long enough to think about it, squeezing his eyes shut so the light from the hallway didn't cause any more disruptions to his slumber.

He hadn't slept like this in weeks.

It was worth taking advantage of while it las—

" _Plop!"_ a giant person-sized thing jumped onto the edge of his mattress, forcing him to half-open his eyes.

"Ohmygod," he slurred under his breath, noticing it was Wanda. "What're you doing here?"

"Are you quoting me now, Old Man?" she quipped with a wry grin, sounding very much awake, which he was not.

"Was I?" his eyes drifted shut again as he pulled a pillow over his head.

Wanda sighed heavily. "Clint, I have a problem."

"So do I. Sleep deprivation. Get outta here."

"Dad, I need help!" she begged, a pitiful look in her eyes.

Clint groaned loudly and finally sat up. "Okay, fine."

"T'Challa likes me."

He just stared at her blankly for a moment. "Oh, _brrrrother,_ " he fell back against the bed again, pulling the pillow right back on top of him.

"What am I supposed to do? I don't know the cultural implications of Wakandan royalty asking me out. I've never been here before," she complained, bouncing on the bed a little to rouse him again.

Clint groaned again, just as loud, and gave up on sleep. He tossed the pillow aside and sat up. "I have much bigger problems to deal with right now than the guy who gave us amnesty thinking you're some kind of Cinderella."

Her eyes lowered in disappointment. "I know."

Someone in the nearby bunk started mumbling, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"For example," Clint explained to her, "Sam talking in his sleep. Shut up for a second!" he yelled in a louder voice.

Sam snorted in a very undignified manner and rolled over, bleary-eyed, eyeing them from his own side of the room. He started to point at Clint, like he was going to make a retort, but like a drunk who'd started and completely forgotten what he was going to say, dropped to the pillow again and began snoring like the dead.

"Ugh, what a noise," Wanda grimaced. "Why didn't you bunk with Scott and let Steve deal with him?"

Clint gave her a look. "Because Steve _knew_ about this, and I didn't," he replied, raising his eyebrows.

"Steve knows a lot of things," Wanda agreed, sitting up a little straighter and folding her hands in her lap, "including when the United Nations are going to get here. Has he told you yet?"

Clint rubbed his eyes. "That's the real reason why you're here, isn't it?"

"Well, did he?"

"Yeah, he told me earlier tonight. Or—yesterday. I dunno what time it is. Is it morning?"

"I thought spies had some kind of internal alarm clock," she folded her arms across her chest. "You're telling me you really don't know if it's night or morning?"

Clint gave her a scathing look. "Ever consider that the internal clock has a snooze button?"

"Oh, _please_."

"Don't talk back to me, young lady."

"Will you just continue with what Steve said?"

"Not much, but I've been able to infer a few things. T'Challa's going to be forced to give us up, so we've got to figure out where and when we're going to disappear. Same old stuff," he muttered under his breath, so low Wanda almost thought she wasn't meant to hear.

"He's not going to change his mind, is he?" she asked, frowning.

"He's got a country to look after," Clint shrugged. "He hasn't got a choice. Nice enough of him to let us stay here."

"Bribing him with a dinner and wine probably won't work, then," Wanda mused, in a dry tone.

"Now you're starting to sound like Natasha," Clint almost chuckled.

"We only have a few more hours," Wanda pointed out. "Why have we not figured this out already?"

Clint just stared emptily into space, and shook his head. "I don't know, kid. I don't know."

Wanda gave a shaky sigh and leaned forward, against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her comfortingly and they just stayed there, like that, for a while. "I'm worried about Laura and the kids," Wanda confessed to him, "and I know if I'm so worried about them, you must being going crazy."

Clint gave a low chuckle. "Why don't you leave the bulk of that to me?" he suggested. "I think I've got enough of that for both of us."

"Do you think we'll ever see them?"

She raised her head, and the pained look in Clint's eyes made her wish she hadn't asked the question.

" _Good grief, Wanda,"_ she berated herself, _"you should be comforting him right now, not the other way around."_

It was a long time before Clint answered. He swallowed thickly, and wouldn't meet her eyes. "Not going to mope about that," he said in a low voice, "'till I—know for sure there's no chance left."

Wanda inhaled sharply, trying to wrap her mind around the weight of what he'd just said.

If Clint hadn't come after her, if he hadn't gone to help her and Steve, he would still be with them. Safe, and happy, in his own homeland.

 _Jet skiing_ , probably. The awfulness of it made her want to scream.

Wanda sniffled and looked over at him.

Clint looked lost.

She knew that feeling.

Wanda put a hand on his arm. It was rough and calloused, covered in little pockmarks from shrapnel and numerous injuries. His skin was thick from firing arrows without wearing a guard. She looked up at him, knowing he could see her face because of the slight glow her eyes had when she got excited.

"Well, there IS a chance," she gazed at him, strutting her chin out with determination. "What are we sitting here for?" she gestured, shrugging, to the room they were in. "We should get off our asses. Get your family back."

Clint forced a laugh, sitting up a little straighter. "Shoulda known you'd say something motivational like that. You've been spending so much time with me," his eyes glinted. He was teasing to pretend he wasn't still worried.

"Shut up," Wanda grinned, deciding to ignore it for now. "Ready to plan an escape?"

"Seeing as I'm not getting any _sleep_ now," Clint motioned to Sam, who was still bulldozing away in his slumber, "I guess we can figure something out."

She held out her hand, and he grabbed it.

 **Is it any surprise someone with Wanda's power and beauty wouldn't attract the two most powerful men on the planet? Hahahahaha sorry if it seems cliché. I just wanted to pull something nobody was looking for.**

 **Next time (maybe):**

"The world sure is a small place when you're trying to hide on it," Sam noted, shaking his head.


	5. Whom To Protect

**A/N: Sorry if this is a little choppy! It was written in chunks that I kind of tacky-glued together…oh well. The beginning quote (except for the last line!) is a quote from a comic—not sure which one, found it on the Internet. Marvel owns it, along with everything else.**

 **Thanks for all the love, those who followed and favorited!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: Thanks, I'm so glad it made you laugh!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Good good (: I know, I can't seem to write anything that doesn't have some kind of sadness in it lol.**

 **Zarannya: Wow, thank you for such a wonderful review! I love it when folks are so detailed; it's really helpful and sweet of you to take the time, thanks. 'Pulling an Elsa'—love it, I laughed so hard because it's TRUE…lol. If Tony and Vision are the parents, and Clint is Ana, who is Olaf, then? ALSO good point I never thought of, that Vision and Clint would NOT get along because INFINITY STONE kind of brings back bad memories, hehe. Your Ross comment was extremely helpful. I don't know his character well so it helped me to actually think about what his plan was in the long run.**

 **Gandalf537: That would be SO funny—we definitely want to see the Avengers sides reconciled at some point, don't we? It simply MUST happen—maybe I can bribe them into doing it for me at some point haha.**

 **NerdyEnchantress: OMG, they must have a super-awkward date night! HAHAHAH the hilarity that would ensue if we had a Scarlet Witch Bachelorette show…oh dear. Glad you liked the Cinderella comment! Thank you for the wonderful review; I hope you like this chapter!**

 **MagsSky: So glad you are continuing to enjoy it!**

 **Guest: YaY! I am so excited to have you as a reader!**

 **James Williamson: You are amazing, thank you infinitely for your encouragement and responses! RENNER'S CONTRACT IS UP?! WHAT?! I had not heard of this. I thought he was staying through Infinity War, just not confirmed-! Hngh, I'll just have to continue to write Hawk so he remains somewhat appreciated, yeah? Oh, dear me, thank you for the praise—though seriously, this is THE most high-quality work I've ever put out—if you read pretty much any of my other stories, they are so flat—I especially have trouble with extended storylines, so let's hope this one remains strong and doesn't follow suit! What kind of stuff do you write? I'd love to hear about it. Oh, yesyesyesyesyes to literally ALL of your prompt suggestions—I will probably use at least one of them for the next chapter. I have a million plans for Tony, too, I just don't know whether to use them here or in a separate story that follows a similar pattern, just from his perspective. Any thoughts?**

 **Whom To Protect**

"Wakanda! A mysterious African nation, home to the Black Panther for more than ten thousand years. Wakanda! The most advanced country on the face of the Earth, centuries ahead of even the most accelerated thinking. Wakanda! Staggering megalopolis of secrecy, where science and magic intermingle and the future of mankind is defined. Wakanda; where its king, and my father, lies dead in the ground, never to rise again."

T'Challa's fists shook at his sides as he looked down at the loose earth, covered only by the shadow of a huge statue of a snarling panther. He stood on the balcony overlooking the palace gardens, and further down the mountain the gleaming villages he ruled.

"Where is my country's glory, now that its fate is left in my hands? I was raised by my father, taught by my father, loved by none but him since the day I was born. My own mother gave her life, so I could be this man. Yet in all my years, I have never felt so incapable of taking Father's place."

The man's voice heaved with unshed tears, but he kept his back to Clint, struggling with the difficulty of maintaining a visage of strength, fitting for his position.

Clint, on the other hand, knew he was looking at one of the strongest leaders he'd ever met.

T'Challa was at least honest, and wasn't trying to be a big-shot, unlike some others he knew.

He cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Well, your Majesty, I think humility counts for something in any man." He figured it was best to keep some distance until he was given permission to stand closer. "I've seen plenty of strong rulers without any sense. Whether or not they _should_ be ruling is another question."

T'Challa turned toward him, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Aren't you supposed to be in hiding?" he asked, in his rich, native accent.

"Aren't you supposed to be giving us up to Ross?" Clint folded his arms across his chest, staring out at the jungle valley that extended beyond the city below.

"I have made one mistake already, as a new king, betraying an innocent man," T'Challa shook his head, resolve set in his voice. He trailed a hand along the balcony's sleek metal guardrail and the vines that curled around it. "After consulting with my advisors, I have decided I cannot make the same mistake twice. You and your friends will _not_ be delivered to the United Nations."

Clint's brow furrowed. "The reason we're in this mess is _because_ we were accused of putting people in danger. Innocent people, lots of them," he reasoned, a serious tone in his voice. "No offense, but we'd rather hide ourselves—if you could help us, that would be great—but we're not gonna put ourselves on the other side of you and your people. Ross knows how to put up a fight."

"Your daughter said the same thing," T'Challa nodded.

Clint suddenly had something VERY stuck in his throat. His Majesty fortunately did him a service by ignoring his impromptu coughing fit.

"But, I know Ross' capabilities almost as well as I know my own. We will be prepared," he continued, a confident gleam in his eyes.

Clint huffed a breath through his nose, embarrassed by his outburst but trying not to show it. "You're prepared for anything, huh?"

"If you are trying to convince me to boast of Wakanda's secrets, it will not be happening here!" The young king looked amused.

Clint gave him a hardened stare. "I've got no doubt that you're prepared, Your Majesty, but are you prepared for all your preparedness to slip through your fingers? 'Cause in my experience, that's what happens ninety percent of the time, and that inability to see beyond their original plan often costs people their lives."

T'Challa's expression was difficult to read. Clint couldn't tell if he was angry, or if he was taken off-guard, or if he was considering what he'd said. "I have seen such incidents before," he said at last. "I could—not have been prepared for my father's death. I could only act," he swallowed hard, "however mistaken I may have been—and prevent others from suffering the same."

Clint's mouth moved slightly before any words managed to come out. "Wanda—she spoke with you, huh?"

"She leaves a striking impression."

"Yeah," Clint narrowed his eyes. "—But she's not a terrorist, like _some_ people seem to think," his voice hardened a little, testing to see what the man's response would be.

"No, no, no!" T'Challa answered right away. "She is wise beyond her years. Wiser than I am," he added, contemplating the fact, "and yet, more powerful."

"You think she's not half bad, then," Clint grunted, still not meeting his eyes.

T'Challa grinned, turning all the way around.

"Kinda peaceful, how all this is set up," Clint changed the subject, looking over the stone wall at the scene spread out below. "Palace at the top, villagers down below. If the design wasn't so much like Star Trek, I'd say it came straight out of the medieval ages."

T'Challa laughed. "Look at that wall," he pointed, straight out ahead of them.

A large stone building was set into a larger wall, which seemed to stretch between the villages and the jungle for miles in every direction. Gates were set into it every few yards, and even from as far off as they were, tiny specks of people sitting and talking in the gates were still visible.

"Long ago, before the invention of flying weapons and airborne threats to this country, that building was the king's palace," T'Challa explained. "He chose to defy the logic of many other chiefs and placed himself between the dangers of the outside and the dwellings of his people. The most powerful man did not reside at the top of the mountain so he could be protected, but stood between it and the jungle so he could protect it."

If he noticed Clint's knuckles turning white as they gripped the metal railing, he said nothing.

"Today, most of our threats come from the sky, not the ground," T'Challa concluded. "So, my grandfather built this palace to stand between the air and the mountain, the unknown in the sky and the safety of the villagers."

"Sounds too good to be true," Clint gave him a challenging look.

"There is more," T'Challa smiled, "that I will not tell you here."

"Your country, your secrets," he muttered.

"You are familiar with secrets. Why do you fight with these—these giants—you form a team with?"

Clint arched an eyebrow. "You calling me a _dwarf_?"

T'Challa grinned. "David was a small man who fought with giants, and he became the greatest of kings."

"I'll just—put that on my list of career goals," Clint snorted.

"He also spent most of his life being hunted down by the government," the young king added, his face the perfect mask of seriousness.

"Stop drawing parallels, then! Gee," Clint leaned against the wall to look back down at the villages.

T'Challa extended his hand, sighing. "My name is T'Challa Udaku. I don't think we've _officially_ met yet."

"I have a _great_ comeback." Clint waited a moment, but shook his hand anyway, a slight smirk on the edge of his lips.

T'Challa merely smiled, and motioned to a woman Clint hadn't seen him call for. "This is M'Pata," he announced. "She will be staying with you in the hideaway. You will be informed of everything General Ross says or demands during his meeting with me, but I trust you will _not_ act on anything he says until the matter has been discussed with me," his tone became stern at the end.

Clint barely avoided wincing, not used to being ordered around by someone half his age, but T'Challa _was_ a king.

Clint had had bad experiences with several 'kings', all much less powerful than this one.

He figured it was best not to repeat those experiences, if possible.

M'Pata dipped her head toward both of them. "Your Majesty; Mr. Barton."

"Take him now, please," T'Challa gestured away, in the direction of the corridor. "And Clint?"

Clint turned, one eyebrow raising as he did so.

"You not only fight against giants, but also beside them." That familiar gleam was back.

Clint left, thinking _maybe_ the Wakandas had a few tricks up their sleeve _Ross_ would not be prepared for.


	6. Steve Almost Spills the Beans

**A/N: The plot is thickening! Thank you guys once again for your amazing support! Also, welcome to any new followers and readers!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Tnx! So glad you liked. Anything you'd like to see happen soon?**

 **AndreKI: Woo! Yes, there is something between T'Challa and Wanda! Next chapter, not this one. But coming! :D**

 **NerdyEnchantress: Hahahaha there are plenty more coughing moments in this chapter! And Sam teasing too! I'm so glad you're loving this story. Having you as a reader definitely means a lot! Virtual cookies for you (::) (::) :D**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: I TOTALLY missed the email with your review somehow, so seeing it on the site is extra-exciting! I am SO glad you liked the chapter :D Hahaha so true, Clint's superpower is not being dumb—well, maybe when Laura's around he's not being dumb…lol. I'm glad that analogy made sense, and Wakanda's history too (not based on comic canon, but whatevs). My ambitions? Haha. I'm not exactly sure what they are, but they are definitely great—I have you to help me figure the rest out, right? *wink* I couldn't do this without my reviewers; thank you so much!**

Steve Almost Spills the Beans

… …

 _Drip, drip, drip_

Clint closed his eyes as he leaned back against the cool elevator railing, focusing on the sound.

Damp underground refuges weren't really his thing. There was no way a threat that could reach them down here, but not being able to see past ten yards in any direction always drove him nuts. He was a wide-open spaces kind of guy.

Wanda leaned her head against his shoulder as they headed further down, through the vertical tunnel their elevator connected to. Five Avengers and their escort were a tight fit, but they managed in one go.

Sam's head was shoved underneath of Cap's chin, and Scott was trying hard not to tease him sick about it while Clint and Wanda pressed up next to each other on the other side, M'Pata refusing to make eye contact with any of them as she stood against the door.

"So," Clint asked Wanda, trying to get his mind off of the claustrophobic tightness of the space, "You told Mr. Royal Highness I was your dad, huh?"

"What?" she flashed him a mischievous grin, "You told me I could call you that."

Clint snorted. "Did not."

"You also cried."

"Did NOT!" his mouth dropped open.

"Hang on, I gotta hear this story," Sam leaned forward, suddenly interested. He bumped Steve when he moved, making both of them wince. "Since when did you become her 'dad'? I thought that was _my_ job!"

"Are you kidding?" Clint raised an eyebrow. " _You?_ "

"Sam, you are barely ten years older than me," Wanda folded her arms across her chest.

"Ten years is—"

"If you finish that thought, I will knock you unconscious before you have a chance to say the words," Scott interrupted, alarmed at where the conversation was going.

"Sorry, Dad," Sam sassed, without skipping a beat.

"I'm the only one in this elevator who actually _is_ , you know," Scott glared at him.

"Says you," Sam folded his arms, despite the fact that it packed them in even tighter.

"I'm sorry they're like this," Steve apologized to M'Pata, who merely raised an eyebrow and looked like she couldn't wait for this job to be over.

"Yeah, and I'd like to see you try and knock me out cold," Sam challenged Scott.

"I'd like to see that, too," Clint sniggered, folding his arms.

"But back to you—you mean to say she isn't really your daughter?" Scott asked Clint, confused.

"Wait, _what?_ "

"Of course he is, born and raised. Don't you notice how we have similar accents?" Wanda replied in a bored tone.

"Gosh, man, I would've been like, seventeen!" Clint protested, a look of disgust on his face.

"He would have been twenty-three," Wanda continued, in the same tone.

"Shut up."

Wanda's mouth quirked up slightly as she looked at Scott. "We call Clint my dad because he's so old, and because he likes to take care of me all the time," she explained.

"More like, since you were panicking in Sokovia, and I decided not to let a scared kid sit in front of a bunch of robots when she could be blowing them up for me," Clint exclaimed, his voice a tad too loud for the small elevator.

Wanda took his hand while he wasn't paying attention, and he squeezed it subconsciously as he continued to speak. She bit her bottom lip, trying hard to suppress her laughter.

Clint could bluff as long as he wanted, but she didn't so much as have to look in his mind to know the truth of how he thought of her.

"I mean, do you have any idea how annoying she can—"

Scott noticed the hand-holding and burst out laughing. "Do you have _any_ idea how obvious you are? You would kill a dragon for her—I'd bet twenty bucks on it."

The elevator door slid open and the five of them exploded out into the tiny underground room. It was damp, and made of rocks and dirt, but it was at least safe.

"Twenty?" Steve broke in, scoffing. "I'd bet a hundred, any day. A thousand, if you had it."

"I bet you wouldn't be that terrible of a family guy," Scott offered Clint generously, stretching out his legs. "You should try it sometime, it's great."

"Since chicks and rugrats obviously grow on trees, I'll keep that one on the calendar," Clint threw back with another scoff.

Steve and Wanda met each other's eyes, and came close to giving _everything_ away.

Steve had an impromptu sneezing attack, making Sam yelp since he was still in front of him, and Wanda may or may not have suddenly squeezed Clint's hand so hard she practically wrung it from his arm.

Like a true spy, none of the pain appeared on his face, so the crisis was averted for the moment.

"Steve's never gonna convince me he doesn't know some things about Clint that me and Old Man Lang don't," Sam waved his hand at both of them, oblivious to the panic that was going around the other members of the group. "I've seen you two work together on missions. There's a level of familiarity there, you know what I'm saying? Ever since that thing with Ultron."

Steve and Wanda nearly lost it again, but Clint merely brushed the comment off. "Yeah, well, me and Wanda," he pretended, sheepishly, to admit, "we just kind of click, right, girl?"

Wanda raised a highly condescending eyebrow at the word, 'girl'.

"We just look out for each other, that's all. But Steve's right, I'd do anything for her." He plastered a large, fake smile on his face and patted her hand.

" _What are you saying?"_ her dry voice came through his head.

" _Shush,"_ he laughingly thought back, knowing she could read his mind _. "Is he asking any more questions about the rugrats? Nope."_

Wanda gave him a little smile in return.

It had taken a while for Clint to agree to allow her in his mind, given his hideous experiences with mind control, but to Wanda telepathy was as natural as breathing. She used to talk to her twin almost constantly, and Clint—

Well, honestly, Steve _was_ right.

What it boiled down to was that Clint would do _anything_ for her.

Even let her invade his mind, as uncomfortable as that was.

Just to give her someone to talk to.

It was kind of nice, if a little creepy, once he got used to it.

Sam just looked disappointed that Clint had come 'clean'.

"Excuse me," M'Pata's voice interrupted their mirth with her own kind of seriousness. She held up a small holographic device and turned it on, displaying a live scene of T'Challa with his bodyguards and advisors. "Secretary Ross has arrived," she continued. "He should be visible on-screen very soon."

The room's tone changed immediately, everyone going sober and leaning forward to examine the scene.

They could watch the jet land, perfect audio coming through the minuscule speakers. The team felt as though they were standing there, instead of three hundred feet deep into the mountainside.

Ross and T'Challa exchanged pleasantries. T'Challa's were cold but extravagant, bordering on mockery. Ross' were kept to a bare minimum. He appeared to be trying not to anger T'Challa, but to maintain an attitude of superiority just the same.

Clint saw Steve's fists clench at his sides.

Ross was trying to bully the young king into intimidation.

T'Challa was nothing but polite if firm. "The Avengers are public servants, not criminals," he fixed the Secretary with a regal gaze. "If you wanted them back, you should have treated them better when they tried to protect innocent blood. You should be grateful a few remained and followed your orders, considering that those turned out to be based on wrong information."

"They imbeciles have defied every nation united in peacekeeping efforts," Ross replied smoothly, tight-lipped. "I am afraid I must take them off your hands."

"They will not come."

"Then do us one favor, if you won't hand over the fugitives," Ross' frown darkened. "Give us one man: James Buchanan Barnes. If the former Avengers remain peaceable, we won't continue to actively pursue them. At the advisory of Tony Stark."

T'Challa's eyes narrowed. "Of all the men, you would ask for the most innocent of them all?"

"I ask for the man who murdered your king! What kind of ruler does this boy think he is?" Ross bellowed.

"Barnes was never used to kill my father!" T'Challa roared back. "Zemo used _my_ father's death to put an end to Barnes and all the rest! I will _not_ let him win."

"Would you start the next world war over one man?" Ross' voice lowered dangerously. "Not even a _man_ —a half-machine, a half lab-rat!"

"That's enough!" T'Challa held up a hand, seething. "I will meet with you in two hours, after we reconsider _every_ possible option to satisfy the United Nations."

"Two hours is enough time for you to smuggle the fugitives away!"

"Where would they go?" T'Challa hissed, spreading his arms wide. "You have turned the whole world against them."

"Half an hour. After that, we will use our—UN authorized—authority to search your kingdom through, if it means turning over every single brick."

"If you move so much as a man before an hour has passed, you will learn a new meaning of respect for the nation of Wakanda," T'Challa warned, his voice strong with pride. "I will give you your answer, and you would do best to act with civility, not as a fool, whatever the answer may be."

Ross nodded curtly, and T'Challa waved him away, unwilling to move an inch from his place. Several palace guards ushered the Secretary and his men away from the vicinity.

As soon as he was gone, T'Challa's advisors were quick to approach.

"Your Majesty, please tell me you're not considering withholding Sergeant Barnes—the safety of the people—"

"That such a man as the Secretary should even be here is a disgrace to our people—"

"Your Majesty—"

"T'Challa—"

The young king raised his head, taking a steadying breath. "Leave for the moment, all of you. I'm sorry. I need to speak with the Avengers themselves."

The group went silent.

"Be quick, Your Majesty, please," one of them answered.

"We only have an hour," another muttered.

"Send up—no, do not bring the whole group. I must speak with Miss Maximoff. Do not worry—I will conference again with the rest of you in a few short minutes."

In the underground safe room, silence reigned as well.

"Well, look who's special," Steve broke the silence, throwing a pained grin toward Wanda.

"This sounds like a _great_ plan," her voice was laced with sarcasm.

"You'll do fine," Clint hummed, pretending he wasn't worried. He ran a thumb along the back of her hand. "I'm serious!" he added, when everyone looked at him. "She'll do fine. Just watch out for old T'Challa, he might turn out to be a two-headed snake with all he's risking here," he continued in a lower voice, to Wanda.

She looked reluctant. "I'll watch where I step. You will all keep an ear out for me?" she asked the group.

Sam pumped a supportive fist in the air. Steve nodded, and Scott reached behind Clint to give her a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, kiddo!"

"Cap?" Sam asked, twisting around in his chair. "What do we do, say, if nobody can agree on keeping Barnes in his old Jedi-master exile freezer?"

"Yeah, what happens if they try and take him again?" Scott asked, concerned.

Clint and Steve exchanged a glance over both of their heads, already knowing the answer.

Steve avoiding looking toward M'Pata, as she watched them suspiciously. She gestured to Wanda and ushered her out of the room.

"We fight." He glanced around at all of their faces, as soon as her back was turned. "—Again."

"But I don't have my suit," Scott whispered.

"I don't have my wings," Sam agreed, looking concerned.

"Or my arrows!" Clint exclaimed.

The others stared at him for a second.

"What?" he protested, the tips of his ears turning red. "They're custom made."

"I already have everything I need," Wanda called back through the elevator door. "You guys need to get your act together."

"Yeah, AND you get called on to do the royal advising appointment. What's with that?" Clint called back.

"May I remind you gentlemen—and Miss Maximoff—that no action is to be taken without express approval from King T'Challa?" M'Pata's voice was sharp, even coming from the inside of the elevator.

"Hey, you'll do great," Sam called to Wanda encouragingly as the door began to close.

She smiled and the door stopped halfway, a puff of red surrounding the gears.

"He may be a king, but he's still cool. He likes cats. Just think about that. He starts acting like he's too big for his britches, just think—him in a catsuit, like he's gonna go seduce Batman on Halloween or something."

Wanda burst out laughing in spite of herself, causing M'Pata to glare lividly in Sam's direction.

After the door closed, Sam caught Clint staring at him. "What? Oh—I'm so sorry—you weren't saving a really important dad joke for that moment, were you?"

Clint stared until Sam lost the serious expression he was trying to maintain.

"Oh, come on, man! _You_ a dad?" Sam almost couldn't contain himself. "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard."

 **Ouch, Clint's playing dumb in earnest here! He'll get some real badass moments soon, I promise!**

 **Next chapter, T'Challa and Wanda go on a 'date' and solve all the world's problems in 45 minutes flat. Haha see you guys next time!**

 **~Marina**


	7. Regret, Wrath, Rage, and Revenge

**A/N: You all replied with some AWESOME criticisms. THANK YOU! This story has the best followers ever. Please enjoy the next chapter.**

 **Zarannya: Thank you, thank you, thank you for pointing out all those crazy plot holes! I totally forgot that Sam and Scott inevitably would have heard Clint's and Tony's conversation, because obviously everyone could hear each other pretty well, and I think if Tony was there they would have been straining at full attention (they were kind of bored out of their minds, after all). I'm thinking about how to fix that…probably in the second draft of this story. Right now I think Sam is totally oblivious but Scott suspects something and is trying to drop hints but Clint isn't taking the bait. Barton family is DEFINITELY coming in at some point, hopefully soon! I don't know if they'll get to meet Sam but that is a strong maybe. And I'm excited that you liked how T'Challa's respect is growing for Clint. He really is extremely intelligent, which is often not noted. So glad to have you as a reader!**

 **AndreKI: Here 'tis! May not quite be what you were expecting…but there is certainly drama! Hehe. Let me know what you think and any ideas you have for their relationship!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: How do you continue to point out things about my story that I didn't even realize? That is an amazing thing and has helped me SO MUCH, I cannot begin to say. THANK YOU! I totally wrote that whole chapter without realizing that, yes, Clint was basically hinting at romance between him and Wanda, duh, that is what was happening. I was thinking he was just simply dismissing Sam's calling their father-daughter relationship, and somehow even in the writing of the scene I didn't realize exactly what I was having him communicate. Lol. Uh-huh, yeah, Ross is totally oblivious (along with most of the rest of the world, methinks!) about Wakanda's true powers hidden away! Trying to decide how those powers will be displayed in the next chapter; plz share if you have any thoughts! And that is a great point about Hope—I totally forgot about her—! She was supposed to be in that chapter! *Cringes.*Maybe I'll figure out how to worm her back in—? I love Hope, I feel so bad that I forgot her. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Oooh, yessss! That would be epic. We've got to bring Bucky back somehow, yeah? I'll have to see if it plays into the narrative, but I would loooove that to happen.**

 **NerdyEnchantress: *grins hugely* I'm so glad you liked it! Oh! Do you really think I get T'Challa in-character? He's the one I was most worried about—we have so little to base his speech on so far! And I'm so happy you liked Sam and all his ridiculousness! I love him *grins again* Thank you so much for reviewing!**

 **Gandalf537: SO sorry it took so long to update! Guess what? More suspense! Lol, muahaha. So happy you are enjoying this story! Thanks for the review.**

 **Guest: Aww, thank you muchly! I hope you enjoy this next one as well!**

 **James Williamson: HOLY COW I think I just about had a heart attack when I first saw your review. Thank you SOSOSOSOSO MUCH for all your amazing feedback! I really appreciate, especially, your tips on plot development and maintaining the suspense. As you can see I did take some of your suggestions—Tony is back, and will continue to be. I'm happy about that for sure. "Show, don't tell" is definitely something I need to work on—I have a tendency to slack off when I'm trying to rush through a story before I forget what I want to write. Or when I'm anxious to publish *winces*. However, the style you demonstrated (very cool to read, nevertheless—I absolutely appreciate your taking the time to write it out for me!) draws the focus to Ross and T'Challa, and the story is still not focused on them. It could be, but it's not a political story, though this part has some of those elements. I'm trying to make it more about the relationships between the characters, and Clint and Wanda are still at the epicenter of that. In the next few chapters we're hopefully going to get to a place where the two of them are on their own together, and that's what I want the heart of the story to be about. Still, I agree, I could definitely have added more flesh onto the scene and I'll certainly be doing that when I go back and work out a second draft. So, a thousand thanks! :D**

 **That is super cool about your projects; do you write more original material or fanfic? Eight years is a long time—that's wonderful!**

 **The 'date stuff' is also more of a joke—maybe I took it too far. Hopefully nobody's mad when they read this chapter. I agree, there's a whole lot of more important matters on the line.**

 **I really hope you enjoy this chapter as well (: You are an invaluable help—thank you for your investing your time in helping me improve!**

 **Salwyn77: So glad you are enjoying it! I am a super sucker for Daddyhawk—there's just not enough of it, ya know? Hope you enjoy this chapter as well! More Wanda/Clint interaction is coming later on (:**

 **... ... ... ... ...**

 **Regret, Wrath, Rage, and Revenge**

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

Tony stared at the light on his desktop telephone, a bored smirk on his face.

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

Why did he still have a desktop phone? They were invented before even Steve had been alive. He needed an update.

But, then he wouldn't get to watch the hold button blinking as Ross attempted to call.

It was rather fun, as Vision would say.

"You should probably answer that."

Tony grunted in response.

Rhodey grinned as he wheeled himself into the room, transferring to the sofa and stretching himself out with an exhale of satisfaction.

They both stared at the light as it continued, the glow reflecting off of Tony's face.

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

 _Blink._

It wasn't like either of them had anything better to do.

"Are you feeling all right, Tony?"

"Hmm? I feel fantastic. How 'bout you?"

"Says the guy who managed to hide palladium poisoning from me for almost a month."

"Three months, and, I'm sorry, is the only reason you're here so you can question my life choices?"

Rhodey snorted. "Sometimes I wonder if I do anything _but_."

Tony rolled his eyes, but noticeably winced in pain as he got up to pour himself a drink in the kitchenette.

His friend's eyes narrowed, but he didn't ask again.

When Tony was quiet for thirty more whole seconds, he finally changed the subject.

"You made any progress on the labor-intensive task of calling Pepper?"

"There again, with the life choices."

"I'm just asking!"

Tony sipped thoughtfully. "I think she's busy."

"Her mom _died,_ Tony."

"Exactly. That's why she doesn't want to talk to me. I'm not a _consoling_ partner, Rhodes" he stated as a fact.

"You're not going to try?" Rhodey pushed. "After all she's done for you, you're going to give up?"

"I think we've had this conversation before," Tony started to sound annoyed. "And she's the one who said she needed a break!"

Rhodey threw his hands up in the air. "For crying out loud, Tony, she wanted a break from the suits and the Avengers and you blowing yourself up while she was trying to arrange a funeral, not a break from _you_!"

"Same thing, just worded differently."

"She's trying to mourn the only person she really cares about besides you. Don't try and pretend you don't understand that—I know you loved your mom, no matter how often you refuse to talk about her," Rhodey scolded him sternly.

"That's what you don't understand," Tony suddenly moved forward, rounding the back of the couch and flopping down opposite his friend. He faced Rhodey with an unreadable expression. "—Not the mom part," he clarified. "The suits. I can't get rid of the suits, Rhodey, they're part of me."

Rhodey just frowned and continued to listen.

"I tried to," Tony continued, making vague gestures with his free hand. "For her. I couldn't do it. I need them, for whatever reason, because I'm weak or jaded or something totally different. I—I need them to keep me from turning her into a crutch."

Rhodey frowned, surprised that Tony was being so honest with him. He struggled to sit up, leaning forward on his wobbly knees.

Tony looked back at him, barely meeting his eyes. "I can't do that to her. She's more to me than tha—"

A loud _"BUMP!"_ and mild swearing were heard in the room above them. Tony and Rhodey both blinked at the ceiling. "Parker must be making himself at home up there," Rhodey observed, drumming his fingers against his knee.

"Ever met teenagers?" Tony shrugged. "They're persistent."

"No, they're not," Rhodey disagreed. "This one is, because _you're_ the one who insists on having him around."

"—Whatever," Tony deadpanned.

"Give up the suits for a _day_ ," Rhodey pleaded, returning to their earlier conversation. "Can you do that? One day. Just go down there, and be there for her."

Tony shifted in his seat, wincing again.

"Meet her family, ask her how she's doing, how you can help. Then you come back and do whatever you want. You don't have to give _everything_ up for her. You just have to do what you _can_."

Tony didn't respond for a moment. Suddenly, he shifted upward and flashed him a half-smile. "I'll think about it. You know what?" he stood abruptly, wiping his hands on his pants although they had nothing on them, "I think I should go check on Mrs. Barton."

Confusion crossed Rhodey's face. "Who?"

"Mrs. Barton," Tony repeated, as if he should know who that was. "I'll be back later tonight. Don't fall and break your nose while I'm gone."

"I have no idea who that is. And," he pointed sternly in Tony's direction, "if there _is_ something wrong with you, you better tell me before you pass out in my arms like last time. 'Cause if I'm not in my wheelchair at the time, we're _both_ going down, thank you very much."

Tony waved dismissively, heading out through the elevator.

Vision shifted into view through one of the side walls as soon as he was gone. "If he _did_ pass out in your arms, I'm afraid I would have to come rescue you both," he pointed out, watching the elevator door where Tony had just disappeared.

"As much as it pains me to admit, that is probably true," Rhodey shook his head.

"It also sounds to me as though he was stalling," Vision stated wisely, innocent of the fact that he'd just listened in on a private conversation. "about visiting Miss Potts."

Rhodey laughed. "Stalling? Yea. I'd have to agree with you on that one. But I don't know anything about this Mrs. Barton business. Is she like, Clint's grandma or something?"

Vision shook his head. "I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea."

Rhodey smiled and pointed at him. "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

Vision sighed. "The more I know, the less I find I truly understand that knowledge."

Rhodey waited a moment, then sighed as well. "I still think something's wrong with him. He keeps acting weird. Even for him, and that's saying. Is it strange that I only thought of it because he was quiet for ten whole minutes, staring at that thing?" he indicated the phone.

"Isn't that unusual for Tony?"

"Oh, Viz," Rhodey shook his head, shifting himself back into his chair with a grunt. He settled himself with another sigh. "You have no idea."

… …

Wanda stomped into T'Challa's private office, ignoring the lush paintings on the walls or the pure, reflective gold floor and heading directly toward him. She glared down at him for all she was worth.

The young king looked up, startled by her expression.

"What do you think you're doing?" Wanda slammed the door behind her, using her power. She folded her arms over her chest.

"What are you attacking _me_ for?" T'Challa exclaimed.

"Are you afraid of war?" she demanded.

"Who isn't afraid of war?!" he was shocked.

"I grew up in a warzone! War is what I fear more than anything else," Wanda's eyes flashed. "A very good friend of mine even told me once that conflict breeds catastrophe. Two wars took everything from me: my parents, my childhood, my humanity, even my brother," she seethed. "But do you know what I say? Despite causing catastrophe, conflict is the only route to _change_."

"I am a brand new king! Change is the last thing I want. My country has not been at war for thousands of years. People are counting on me for their very lives!" T'Challa hissed, rising from his desk.

"They are doing the same to Ross!" Wanda pointed out, her voice elevated. Her eyes sparked with a red glow, but T'Challa was unfazed by it. "He isn't like you; he causes conflict and nobody can reason with him to stop it! He is the big shot who thinks he knows what's best for everyone and that gives him an excuse to lie at every turn. To hurt people; to lock them up like animals like he did to me!" She heaved a breath, beginning to shake slightly. "War is disgusting," she continued, in a broken tone. "But if you don't use the power Wakanda developed for this very reason, in case one day you would need it, why have your righteous values in the first place? Otherwise we are caught in a cycle of death and destruction, and only you have the power to stop it."

T'Challa shook his head, swallowing, clearly at an internal battle with himself. "How can I?" he pleaded at last, lifting his eyes to hers. "Ross has hurt people, he has harmed you and your friends. But if I play to him, he may leave us in peace!"

"Ross does not leave anyone in peace," Wanda folded her arms, a bitter tone in her voice, "unless they play to him over and over again. Clint—my dad—has told me about the Accords," she continued in a softer voice. "He read them since coming here. I read them as well, but they were hard to understand. For an old guy, he knows his politics," she continued dryly. "He's been—" she drew in a sharp breath, "—betrayed—one too many times. He says Ross is a madman, determined to enslave all superhumans who do not follow his direct orders. In doing so, he could control the world. And if I'm not mistaken," she cocked her head sassily to one side, "you fall under the category of 'superhuman' as much as I do."

T'Challa met her gaze unblinkingly. "Secretary Ross is only a man," he said at last.

"He is taking advantage of you. Of all of us."

"Don't try and pretend you are not powerful enough to control the whole world if you wanted to," T'Challa frowned deeply, meeting her with a challenging gaze.

Wanda flinched and her confident pose faltered for a moment. "Am I controlling you now?" she bit back.

"Are you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Would you be challenging me like this if I was?"

T'Challa gave her a strained smirk. "Okay," he sighed at last, "I will take your advice. On one condition," he smiled wider as he raised a finger in her direction, "that you will fight alongside me to protect my kingdom."

She smirked back. "Whatever it takes to finish Ross."

His expression changed to a more sober one. "Then let's go," he came out from behind his desk quickly, taking her shoulder and guiding her out with him. "We have much to do in our remaining time."

… … …

T'Challa blew out a huge breath as he stood before the United Nations aircraft, still sitting idle on the open flight deck that overlooked the mountains. A gentle breeze blew, the same breeze he had felt on his face ever since he could remember.

It was ironic that the breeze could be so gentle, considering the severity of what was about to happen.

Behind him, the Avengers waited, out of sight, in case of the worst. His own men, soldiers as well as palace guards, surrounded the entire area with weapons Ross would never have dreamed a little African nation would own.

In actuality, they not only owned many more of the weapons, but had also invented and manufactured them as well.

It was only the beginning of their protective capabilities.

"Secretary Ross!" he bellowed, in the most authoritative voice he could manage, as his guards brought forward the Secretary and his companions.

Ross looked rumpled and angry in his grey business suit. "What is it, Boy?" he barked in reply.

T'Challa's eyes narrowed. "I have taken council with everyone. My advisors, my friends, and as many others as I possibly could in the time frame we agreed to." He paused for a second, wetting his lips. "We will _not_ give up innocent men and women to a corrupt establishment, which is your United Nations and many of the countries that comprise it. Begin your destruction of our nation during your search, and you will find what happens to enemies of Wakanda."

Ross' frown deepened, as though he thought he hadn't heard T'Challa correctly. "What did you say?" he spoke in a low growl.

T'Challa strutted out his chin. "Leave us and the Avengers in peace," he spoke calmly, "or you will suffer the wrath of the Black Panther."

Rage built up on the Secretary's face for several long seconds. His jaw began to shake. _"Men!"_ he shouted—only to be cut short by an unseen force.

Unexpectedly, he blanched white, his eyes going wide and terrified.

T'Challa stepped back, confused as to what was happening.

A misty red hue appeared in the air just in front of the Ross' face, most of it reflecting from his eyes. "Leave them in peace," he spoke, in an unnatural, strained voice.

A horrible realization dawned on T'Challa's face.

Ross motioned to his men, slowly, as though his arms were moving through a puddle of water. "We must leave. We can never return here," he spoke again, hoarse.

T'Challa whipped around, seeing Wanda having stepped out from behind a pillar of the palace. Her face was concentrated in Ross' direction and her hands outstretched, red light glowing from each of her fingertips. "What are you doing!?" he shouted, eyes going wide.

She glanced up at him briefly, apologetic. "I'm sorry," she gasped, breathlessly. "But—it was never going to work. I knew it—from the start!"

T'Challa was stunned. He turned first to see Ross, followed by his confused fellow UN workers back to their plane, climbing inside and starting the engine.

Then he turned back to Wanda. "You—how can you do this?" he exclaimed incredulously. "You hypocrite!"

"T'Challa, he would have killed—everyone in your palace. Threatened your whole country, all your people—"

T'Challa straightened. "You can call me 'Your Majesty'," he declared, brows furrowed. "You accused Ross of lying because he thinks he knows what is best for people. How are you any different if you do this? You do not know what is best for my country! I was a fool to trust your judgement!"

Wanda gasped and released her power over Ross' mind as their jet roared and took off down the runway, disappearing into the sky.

T'Challa let his head fall into one hand, kneading the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He was quiet for a moment, as the other Avengers started to appear out of hiding and other Wakandan guards and soldiers also emerged, bewildered as to what had just happened. "If you cannot see the similarity," he said after a while, in a near-broken tone, "between your opinion on how change can occur, and your own—" he raised reluctant eyes to her own, "you _are_ too powerful to be trusted, Witch."

Wanda's face fell. She stood in her place, head bowed, still trying to catch her breath.

All of a sudden, she felt a warm, calloused hand grab her own.

Her eyes flicked up to Clint's.

"Time to go?" he suggested.

She took a shaky breath, and swallowed hard. "Time to go."

… … …

"Sir?"

Ross lifted his head with a frown to see a young specialist headed toward him with a smart screen in hand. "You have something?"

Since his return from Wakanda the day before, he had struggled in a frustrating manner to remember exactly what had happened. He knew the young kind had defied him, but beyond that—

Inwardly he shuddered. There was an unspoken reason why he now dreaded that country. Even revenge no longer seemed as sweet to him, if it meant returning to that place.

He flipped open his glasses and stared down at the display as the specialist opened up a file.

"We recorded this during an outing performed by Mr. Stark, Sir."

"Does he know we recorded it?"

"Not as far as we know, Sir."

Ross watched the scene play out on the screen for a full twenty minutes.

The specialist watched him, worried. "Should we have them monitored? These people are off-records, but they appear to be genuinely who Mr. Stark identifies them as. They're the wife and children of Clint Barton," he supplied.

When Ross didn't answer, he felt obligated to continue.

"The—angry—one beating up Stark is Agent Romanoff…"

"I know who Agent Romanoff is," Ross grunted, annoyed. "What did you say? Monitored? No. They might notice if you plant a device at this specific location. We have no idea how the security is rigged, since it's such a rural location."

He stared at the screen for a few more moments, contemplating.

"File them in our records and keep them there until we have a reason to use them. Or watch them," he corrected himself. "Clint Barton is hardly a concern to me right now. He's an ex-SHIELD agent, nearly fifty years old, and fights his battles with a bunch of sticks. Hardly an Avenger. The more powerful ones? Those are the ones I'm concerned about," he eyed the specialist meaningfully, tapping the side of his head. "That little witch, foremost. Now, if you can find something on _her_ , it would be gold to me."

The specialist grinned. "I'll get right on it, Sir."

"You'd better," Ross grunted, turning back to his desk. "And tighten the security on Stark, if you don't mind. He's beginning to be a bit of a liability, visiting family members of the fugitives. And Agent Romanoff, too, if you can pull off security on her without being stupidly obvious," he added under his breath.

In the corner of the room, a tall, muscular man with hair that had once been red, but was now a rusty white listened in, pretending to be busy at his computer station.

The specialist left.

The red-haired man leaned back in his chair, biting his lower lip and stretching out with his arms above his head, smirking.

"You've been busy, Little Brother," he muttered, watching the specialist leave out of the reflection on his computer screen.

He ran his palm, contemplatively, over a long scar that ran from his armpit down to his wrist, ending in an arrow-shaped slash across all five fingers. The skin still pricked against the rough edges of his jacket sleeve, even after more than thirty years.

He was memorizing the specialist for later.

They were going to have a talk.


	8. Ronin and Raven

**A/N: Anyone want to beta this story/know someone who might want to beta this story?! Message me if you do! Also, get ready for a bumpy ride (literally hehehehe). Also check me out at robinhoodofourgeneration dot tumblr dot com.**

 **I have so many great reviewers! Also, welcome to this story's new followers and readers :D I love all of y'all.**

 **StangeInterests32: Hoo, yeah, excellent point! I am literally pining for a chapter about Peter at this point, so that's a great thing I will try to keep in mind when it shows up. Yeah, the fact that Peter was even near all the action was something of a plothole in the movie, and there's definitely a lot that could have gone wrong that didn't. Thanks for the review!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: You guessed correctly *grins* I absolutely adore Barney. Any chance for brotherly angst with Clint must be fully taken advantage of, lol. Bucky, I'm not sure. T'Challa—well, the story's moving away from that point, but he may show back up in the end (whenever that may be). Both of them might. I'd love for them to. But right now my plans for the next few chapters don't consist of that. These last few have been 'bridge' chapters, carrying us into a new phase where we'll see Clint and Wanda have a lot of adventures together, and Tony and Clint's family having their adventures as well as they try to right all the wrong that's been done and reunite. We'll have to see where that takes us, and if it involves going back to Wakanda again or not.**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: Hope is back! Thank you for all your help with that; it worked out, thank goodness (; OH! I am so glad that you love all the parts about the chapter that I love! *squeals* Yeah, I felt that I HAD to come up with a real explanation for Pepper and Tony splitting up. They've been through SO much that it just doesn't seem right for them to make that decision for no reason other than the ones we've been told.**

 **NerdyEnchantress: YAY! Yes, things are getting complicated! I'm kinda freaking out, tbh. Vision will be returning! In what capacity, I have no idea. He may become buds with Peter for a while, I'm still kinda figuring that out. I still intend to pair him with Wanda at some point; they are totes adorbs. Thanks for the review!**

 **Gandalf537: Actually that is not Ross' brother, sorry about the confusion! Read on, he's a character from the comics that I sincerely wish was in MCU. Thanks for all your enthusiasm!**

 **Thegirlwhoneverforgot: Here you goooo! :D That is a great prompt, I will keep that in mind for the final conclusion of the story! Really appreciate your support; thanks for reviewing mah dear!**

 **Guest: Hehehehe, I know, I'm so evil…thank you so much for the review!**

 **Salwyn77: Here 'tis! Thanks so much for your review. I hope you enjoy :D**

 **EruditeRavenclawCompanion: Aww, thank you so much! I am so glad you liked having Hope in here; I think you'll appreciate this chapter too *winks*. She is a fantastic superhero and I sincerely hope they make Ant-Man and the Wasp a good movie that does her justice.**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: Oh, you know it will, hehehe. Clint is really the one who empowers a lot of the other Avengers and keeps them running smoothly, so his power is often underestimated until he's gone (and even then, hence CW happening *sigh*). I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Chapter 8

"I got everything you wanted," Hope reassured Clint as she marched him and Wanda down the hallway to their Wakandan quarters. "Had to go on the black market for some of it. As it turns out, even the greatest nation on Earth still has," she pinched her thumb and index finger together with a tiny gap in between, "a _little_ bit of crime."

Clint barked a laugh. "You did pay for it, didn't you?" he teased. "Last thing we need is a gang of Wakandan black market dealers bro-ing all over us."

Hope arched an eyebrow. " _Bro_ -ing?"

Clint waved a hand. "Long story."

"What did you get that was so difficult to find?" Wanda asked, confused. She was still a little out of breath from her encounter with Ross, and being dragged along behind Clint as they marched all the way to the other end of the palace made her wish she could just fly along behind them without any of the staff noticing.

"Don't worry," Hope continued, "I paid for it. In," she shrugged, "one way or another. You should be covered."

Clint arched an eyebrow skeptically.

Hope huffed. "Do I look like the kind of person who likes to make enemies?"

"For yourself, maybe not, but for other people…"

Hope rolled her eyes, pushing open a door and holding it for him and Wanda. "Just look through the stuff and see what I got you."

Clint seized upon the pile of armor, weaponry, and survival gear loaded onto the bed, sorting through it with an intense expression.

Wanda raised her eyebrows. She'd had no idea they needed _quite_ this much gear to execute their plan.

When he finished, Clint turned to Hope with a halfway puzzled, halfway disappointed look on his face. "What, no arrows?" he said in a voice meant to be casual, but sounding so despondent Hope almost laughed.

"Sorry. They're not quite that backwoods here in Wakanda."

"Hmph," Clint scoffed, pretending to be just as interested in the other weaponry and failing.

Hope flashed him a sly grin that showed all her teeth. "I did get you this, though," she pulled a long, square-bladed sword from the bottom of the pile and extended the handle to him.

Wanda's eyes went rapidly back and forth between her and Clint.

Clearly Hope meant that sword to be a joke.

To Clint it was anything but.

His eyes lit up. "Woah—"

He took the blade in hand from her and held it experimentally, his eyes roving all the way up and down the metal weapon.

"What is it?" Hope raised an eyebrow, having not expected this reaction.

Wanda suppressed a smile. "He's old-fashioned," she explained.

Clint didn't notice their exchange. He let out a long whistle. "Yeah, I think this'll work," he approved, drawing it out of its leather holster and looking it over before replacing it. His eyes flicked up to Hope. "You're a champ."

"You're seriously going to use a samurai sword while on the run?" Hope wrinkled up her nose in disbelief.

"Well—" Clint deadpanned, still not taking his eyes off the weapon, "I figure it's better to use something you know how to."

Her expression altered to amazement. "You—you know how to sword fight? In this modern age, you'd pick a sword over a gun?"

"Eh," Clint waved a hand dismissively, "it's quieter, for one thing. And more beautiful, aren't you, baby," he crooned in a lower voice directed at the sword.

"Well," Hope didn't know quite what to make of that. "I'll—leave both of you to it, then. Anything else I can do for you?" she asked halfway through the door.

Wanda just smiled and looked at the ground.

Clint shook his head. "Naw, we're good now. Thanks Hope, 'preciate it. Was good to meet you," he clapped her on the shoulder.

Hope smiled. "All right. Be careful. Enjoy your ninja sword."

"Samurai sword, you were more correct the first time," Clint started, before noticing she was already gone. He grinned to himself and set about putting the supplies in order.

Wanda took a steadying breath before stepping toward him.

She felt she needed to say something, but it was a long time before she ventured to speak.

"I wonder if I did what was right," she lifted a hand to examine her nails as she thought about T'Challa's words. "Ross is gone. That's good, right?"

"Depends on whether he'll be back again," Clint didn't look at her, but she knew he was still paying attention. "Hard to tell sometimes, ain't it?"

A small smile quirked her lips. "Not for me."

He snorted. "Yeah, yeah, you just know everything, don't you? If you knew T'Challa'd hate you for it, would you have still lied to him?"

"Thing is," Wanda leaned her hip against the side of the bed, staring down at the supplies, "I didn't know I was lying to him. I could have talked all day long about what we should or shouldn't do, and I think I even believed myself," she raised her eyes to his. "But when I saw Ross arrive in his jet I knew our plan would not work." She sighed. "If I have this power, shouldn't I have to use it somehow? Is stopping Ross a bad thing? I was the only one who could."

Clint shrugged. "Hey, I'm not the judge of this kind of stuff. Whether you did what was right or not—I guess we'll find out when we run into Ross a second time. Or when T'Challa decides it's his turn to stop you, or some other crap. 'C mere," he gestured, grabbing a leather jacket and tossing it to her.

Her nose wrinkled up. It looked hot. "But it's the middle of summer."

"You'll be glad to have something to sleep in. Here, these are the girl's clothes, stuff 'em in this," he shoved a wadded up pile of dark clothing in her arms along with a backpack.

Wanda stared at them for a second. "You know, black's not really my color."

"What do you mean? You're hair's black."

"It's brown."

"You committed to this or not?"

Wanda sighed loudly, not because she really cared, but because she liked exasperating him and being dramatic.

She was a lot like Clint in many ways, she realized. He didn't really care about much either, but he sure liked to make a fuss whenever he got the chance.

"I guess we've all got to make sacrifices," she conceded primly, dropping the clothes on the floor and proceeding to stuff them in the bag. She managed to catch the sunglasses he tossed at her just before they hit her in the face. "What? Are you trying to dress me?" she griped.

Looking up, she saw that he'd already packed his own bag and was hoisting it on over his shoulders. He'd stuck the sword across his back underneath, the strap going over his chest just like his quiver usually did.

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "How many guns did you manage to fit in that tiny backpack?"

Clint just laughed. "We're about to become actual father and daughter," he told her, propping himself up on the edge of the bed as he watched her pack. "Technically, Clint Barton doesn't have a daughter; certainly not one that's twenty-something. And technically, Wanda Maximoff's father died over a decade ago. So it's the perfect cover."

"Are you sure no one will know it's us?"

"I have a really good Sokovian accent, by the way," Clint reassured her, using the very accent.

Her eyes bulged. "How did I not know about this before?"

"Never asked," his eyes twinkled at her as he switched to his normal voice.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say this was going to be fun," her lips turned upward as she squeezed the last of the clothing into her pack, along with some preserved fruit, meat, vegetables, and nuts and a canteen.

His smile faded a little. "Yeah, well. Just keep tellin' yourself that."

Wanda frowned, not liking to see him sad. She reached across and squeezed one of his hands. "We'll get to them," she promised. "One way or another, we'll get to them."

He was still for a couple of seconds, before jumping up like nothing had happened. "Almost forgot," he handed her a dark cape with a hood, grabbing a similar one himself that looked like a full-body ninja suit. "In the event that we gotta scare the crap out of some people, these are our superhero costumes."

She choked back a laugh. "This looks nothing like our old Avengers costumes."

"That's the point!" He held up his own suit. "I'm Ronin; you're Raven. Sword master and mistress of the dark arts."

Wanda facepalmed.

"Only if we need it," Clint grinned openly at her response.

"How in the world would we ever need this?"

"Well, you never know," Clint shrugged, running a hand across his own costume before tucking it under his shirt, rolled up just underneath his belt. "Sometimes old friends decide to show up, and you'd rather they started running the other way before they recognize you."

… … … … …

Barney slammed Ross' specialist up against the slick tile wall, grinning at the reminder of many similar incidents.

He was a big guy, and trained by the best. He wasn't ashamed to admit he liked to bully people around.

"Agent Barton, Sir?!" the specialist gasped out, struggling for breath against Barney's meaty fist and firm grip on his white-collared shirt.

The red-haired man's grin widened. "Agent Barton is my brother," he explained sweetly, before lowering his voice and breathing hotly against the other man's ear, "You can call me Trick."

Unexpectedly the other man kneed him in the groin, swinging out of his grip before Barney could react. The specialist held his clipboard over his head, preparing to strike for all he was worth, but Barney would've rolled his eyes if he'd had time.

He also happened to be an assassin, go figure. If he was going to let a clipboard take him down, he might as well go crying back to Jacques Duquesne, throwing knives extended as an offering in his scar-covered, outstretched palms.

The man would probably kill him.

Which was why he was never going back.

He swung the man's arms around in a wide circle, snapping both elbows with a well-executed maneuver. Before the specialist could let loose a shocked scream, he clamped his hand over his mouth, stifling his movements.

The specialist slumped to the floor, arms dangling at odd angles from his sides. He was shaking, a long trail of sweat running down his forehead until it dripped onto the floor.

Barney let him fall, never letting the psychotic grin slide from his face. When the man stopped fighting him, he finally loosed his hold on the other's mouth.

"Whaddoo you want?" the specialist gasped, his voice coming out in a pained wheeze.

Barney chewed his lip, eyes glinting down at the other man. "How 'bout you start by telling me where my brother's baby-kids are at, huh?"

… … … … …

"Well, we certainly aren't staying HERE," Laura clenched her fists, setting them firmly above each of her hips and glaring at Stark. "Not since you bulldozed in here with your fancy jet that's being tracked by the UN!"

"Permission to kick him off the roof?" Natasha muttered, leaning in toward her ear.

Tony winced. He spread his arms wide in a gesture of surrender. "I—look. I didn't want to cause any trouble, I just wanted to let you know that I'll figure out how to get your husband back."

"No, YOU listen to ME," Laura said, quiet but firm. "YOU don't go looking for him. You don't go anywhere near him. I know you're more than capable and you could help _if_ everything goes like you say it will," she held up a hand as he attempted to speak, "but YOU are a _walking billboard_. The last thing my husband needs trying to help him is a _walking billboard_!"

"Tony, to be honest, you have enough of your own problems to deal with right now," Natasha folded her arms across her chest. "You don't need to be over here at the Farm when you should be trying to get back to Pepper."

Tony glared at her.

"What?" Natasha shrugged. "You didn't think Laura already knew that? The whole world knows about your problems, Stark, I'm sorry. Nobody said being an Avenger was easy."

" _I'm_ sorry, remind me how you're an Avenger again?" Tony seethed. "Last time, I wasn't even sure which side you were on, and now you're insulting me for making sure Clint's family is okay. Did Steve do that? The _guy_ who _called_ him _in_?"

"I will be the judge of whether or not Clint did the right thing _, Tony_ ," Laura spoke tiredly, as if she was forcing herself to call him by his first name when she didn't feel like being friendly with him at all. "We both knew there was going to be a danger to us all, but Tony," her voice grew a little higher, "sometimes you've just got to learn that getting involved in people's private business is not always helpful!"

"Even though you are who you are," Natasha conceded.

"Especially because of that!" Laura exclaimed, her tone pleading him to understand. "Sometimes you have to trust people, trust your own team! Not turn your back on them just because it looks like they've done something you don't like!"

"Wait, are you saying this is about _Steve_?" Tony was disbelieving.

"Am I talking to Steve?!" Laura exploded. "No! I'm not! I'm talking to YOU!"

"He's already seen too much," Natasha noted, cocking her head to the side.

"We're going to have to kill him, aren't we?" Laura agreed, her expression not changing.

Natasha turned and nodded. "Just like all the others."

"Wait—" Tony started to snort, but it died in a cough when he had the sudden thought that they might be serious. His eyes grew wide as he looked back and forth between the two of them.

Laura fixed Tony with a longer gaze before turning and striding out of the room, a businesslike air in her steps that reminded him of Pepper on her way to a meeting. "Strap him up and put him in the van for me, will you, dear?" she called over her shoulder.

"My pleasure," Natasha gave Tony a sidelong smirk that gave him chills all the way up and down his spine.

He extended one of his gauntlets. "Hang on—one of you guys could at least explain the creepy lingo to me before we go—"

Nat didn't flinch as she pressed two buttons on her cuffs that sent identical metal disks flying into the sides of Tony's armor.

 _"_ _Brrrrrhhhewwww,"_ his power drained instantly.

Tony fixed her with wild eyes. "What. Did. You. Just do to me," he barked.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. "You gave those to Clint. Wireless power-draining arrowheads. You honestly don't remember that?"

Upstairs, a muffled voice was yelling, _"_ _Mooom! I wanted to finish my game!"_

Tony shook his head to clear it. "I remember giving them to CLINT!"

Natasha shrugged, stepping forward and—hooking an arm around his armored leg, and another onto his arm, slinging him across her back and—and—picking him up!

"Whoooaahhh, valuable merchandise up here, nonononono!" Tony gasped, unable to believe she'd just done that. "Are you picking me up?! You're what, a hundred and eighty pounds? Max?!"

She wasn't even breaking a sweat, her fireman's carry of the man in a suit at least twice her size and three or four times that weight right through the doorframe, out of the house and down the porch steps. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Tony, and my weight is going to remain one of them, thanks."

"Um," Tony could've struggled out of her grasp, but he was currently too freaked out to move. "Ah—you know when I asked if anyone on our side had any hidden abilities they'd like to expose, this is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about—ah!" He ducked as Natasha pretty much hurtled him in through the side window of the 2003 GMC van Laura owned.

By now, even Natasha Romanoff couldn't hide the amusement from her face. "Buckle up, Stark," she didn't grin, but her eyes twinkled. "You meddled in our affairs, now you're going to pay for it."

"Is everyone ready?" Laura appeared in the door of the farmhouse, sunglasses on her nose, a large backpack on her shoulders, and a picnic basket and a baby in each of her two arms.

"Hang on, give a girl a second to change," Natasha teased, hopping out of where she'd sat in the van beside Stark.

The smell of dust and heated closed-car air was filling his nostrils in an unpleasant way. Plus he was still very confused about what was going on. While he was trying not to panic, the two other runts came sprinting out of the house, the pigtailed girl with her own backpack, set of archery equipment clutched in one hand, and a bright orange kitten in the other and the boy with three bags of lumpy sizes he was struggling to carry without dropping any of them or making things fall out of the barely-closed zippers.

Without reservation, the two of them climbed in beside Tony, disregarding his suit and his very presence while cramming their baggage under the seats and on the floors in front of their feet.

Laura added her own bags to the mix and buckled the baby, now squalling and rubbing a slimy fist over his nose and with noticeable sleep marks on his face from being pressed into a blanket during naptime, into his car seat while Natasha disappeared into the house.

"Hang on," Tony grabbed her arm defensively. "Where are we going?!"

She tossed him a wry smile. "You should know that, Mr. Stark, but I'll explain it this way. Clint's just been freed from the Raft, you're here which means now the same people who locked him up know where we are, and now you can tell whoever you want to as soon as you get back. I'm not about to take that chance. So the way I see it, if you value your life, you probably want to stick where I can keep an eye on you. And that somewhere is going to be a long way from here, so you might want to ditch your suit and hang on for a bumpy ride."

She jumped as though she'd just thought of something. "Oh!" she pulled a plastic bag from the seat in front of him and stuffed it in his lap. "This is for just in case you get carsick. –Lila, be careful with that kitten please—"

Tony glared, wide-eyed, down at the bag.

"Mom! Did you get the chickens?" Cooper exclaimed suddenly, leaping up from his seat.

"Thanks for reminding me, bud," she nodded, giving the picnic basket one final look-through.

Tony sat bolt upright. "Did he just say, 'did you get the chickens'?"

"I'll be right back, so sorry," she huffed, in a hurry.

Natasha came sprinting out of the house, backpack slung across her shoulder and a new pair of jean shorts pulled on under her dry-wick shirt. She'd pulled on her combat boots, but other than that, Tony couldn't see exactly what she'd done to change. "Shotgun," she announced before Cooper could, who groaned afterward.

Tony's eyes had gone partly glassy. "I am not riding in the back of this car," he chanted to himself, almost like a mantra. "I am not. This is NOT happening…"

"SQUAWK!"

Every muscle in his body tensed as he felt a breath of warm summer air on his neck, knowing Laura had raised the hatch. He could hear, as much as he tried not to, the rattle of the metal cage and the rustle of spiny little feet as the wife of Hawkeye shoved an ENTIRE COOP WORTH OF CHICKENS into the back of her mulberry-colored van.

Tony panicked and lunged for the door handle, only to find that it was stuck.

"Child-proof locks," Natasha informed him smugly, not even turning around in the front seat. "Even I can't pick them."

"This isn't happening," he breathed to himself. "This isn't really happening!"

Once the hatch was closed and the wildlife contentedly clucking away in the trunk of the van, Laura swung herself up front into the driver's seat, calling, "Everyone buckled up?" before turning the key in the ignition and switching gears as they rolled down the gravel driveway.

"You know, I think this legally counts as kidnapping," Tony sulked, slouching in the back seat and trying to ignore the kitten that was attempting to sharpen its claws on his armor and the two younglings gazing at him with unabashed interest.

Natasha turned around and looked at him seriously. "It would only count as a kidnapping if you couldn't escape if you wanted to. And you're wearing the suit. So make your choice. Stick around for a few hours, or skip town right now and destroy Laura's van and these kids' entire lives in the process?"

Tony pointed at her. "That's not a fair set of options. You're gonna have to do better than that."

She shrugged. "Sometimes life doesn't offer any fair options. Whatever you do, you have to face the consequences of your actions. So now, you're doing just that."

Tony blinked, determined to stare her down for at least ten minutes.

But, his brain was growing much too tired for that and he felt his focus slipping within seconds.

Laura driving instead of him wasn't helping much with that, but, what the heck? His parents hadn't died from a car accident anyhow.

All that paranoia his whole life had been for nothing.

He gave up, settling back against the seat with his head propped up in the corner between the side window and headrest. "Got any earplugs?" he muttered, considering turning on his playlist and realizing Natasha had probably disabled that, too.

That and the air conditioning. Boy, he was stifling in his suit now.

Then Laura turned up Radio Disney and he knew he was screwed.

 **Plz leave a review and tell me what you thought! Couldn't do it without you guys. Bye for now!**

 **~Marina**


	9. The Adventure Begins

**A/N: I am super excited to welcome this story's official new beta, Zarannya! She is amazing, has helped this story so much already, and you should all go to her profile and check out her work. It's awesome!**

 **Wowohwowohwow, so many reviews in the first few days?! You guys are amazing!**

 **Gandalf537: OMG I know, right?! Loved reading your reaction :D**

 **StrangeInterests32: HAHAHA I think I can oblige, most happily :D And I have just the song….so glad you liked it!**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: Yasss! I love these ladies together; they're both so awesome. I hope you like this chapter with Wanda and Clint! Thanks so much for reviewing.**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Woo! Laura is really awesome. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **AndreKI: Aw, thank you! I can't wait until they all get back together (claps hand over mouth). This is true…however, they are also both very understanding people (also very badass, but that goes hand in hand with it). I like to think they 'mom and dad' all the Avengers, not just Wanda and Nat ;D We'll see how it come out when Laura gets a one-on-one with Tony and finds out just all he's been up to!**

 **Zarannya: [jus' cause (;] I love this family road trip thing WAAAY too much, hahahaha. I'm so glad others do to! THANK YOU for pointing those things out about Hope—my thinking was that she was with them in Wakanda, since Steve called her in to help with the prison break in the beginning. Then when Clint and Wanda got up in the night to make their plans, they enlisted her to help them search (since she still had her suit and could literally hide wherever she wanted to). I need to make that more clear though, since there's a lot I didn't actually fill in. I tend to try and slack off and move through a story super fast-paced; that's how that happened, it seems. And I totally forgot Hope was around at one point, so she dropped out of the story briefly. Yeahhh, the Barney thing is yet to be revealed, but thank you for reminding me that I DO need to actually reveal it at some point, lol. And yes, there will be more Laura and Tony interaction for sure! Thank you so much, for your amazing support. Much love to you :D**

 **Freedom to Rarity: Yay, I'm so glad you liked that part! There will be plenty more of that to come, I assure you!**

 **Karli252: Sweeeet! I'm so glad you are reading it and enjoying! Thank you so much for the review!**

 **Ookami Sakura: Woo! I am SOO glad someone else is excited for Ronin! I kinda went a little nuts about getting to do that. I've only actually read one comic with him in it but I still looooove that side of Clint. I hope you like this chapter!**

 **NerdyEnchantress: Oh my, thank you so much *breathes deeply* :D I am too! I love writing Team Iron Man's side of things, and Peter—OMG, Tom Holland is just adorbs, isn't he? And Vision is equally cute in his own way. And lovestruck, too *geeks out*. I hope you like this chapter in the meantime!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: YES, the tracksuit guys! You understood my reference; that makes me sooo happy! And Ronin, too, eeek! Raven is all Wanda's own, so I'd love development ideas. It's hard because she already has her powers in-hand, so any accessories she has can't really be weaponry or anything like that. She has cute jewelry in the movies but with her going on the run, she's trying to create a whole new appearance that won't be recognized as the Scarlet Witch (at least not too easily). Thanks for the review!**

Chapter 9: The Adventure Begins

"VENGEANCE FOR SOKOVIA?" the headlines read.

Wanda picked one up off the newsstand in Algeria, her eyes scanning over the information quickly.

"AVENGERS LEADER TONY STARK VANISHES ON PERSONAL OUTING."

 _"_ _This doesn't look good,"_ Wanda spoke telepathically to Clint. The archer lingered nearby, bartering heatedly with a little old man in some African dialect she wasn't even going to attempt to name for some dates and what looked like tomatoes and some sort of long green vegetable that looked like a cross between zucchini and a giant bean.

 _"_ _I'm a little busy over here,"_ Clint shot back in her head, his mental voice distinctly accented to the language he was speaking. _"_ _Hard to speak two languages at the same time, thanks, even if one of 'em is only in my head."_

She just smiled behind her headcloth and turned back to read the rest of the story.

As it turned out, it was written in Arabic.

The young woman did her best to stifle a sigh. She felt so annoyingly helpless already, and she and Clint had only just started out on their trip a few days ago.

 _"_ _Arjaeaha! Arjaeaha, tadfae thaman dhlk min,"_ the newspaper seller started barking at her, gesturing wildly to the paper she held in hand.

Reluctantly, she held it out, and he snatched it back from her, setting it back on the stand with a dirty look in her direction.

Clint, as it turned out, was really good at blending in to almost anywhere. Not only could he pick up more accents than she could name, switching from one to another flawlessly on cue, but he could also make himself look like he belonged in a culture and had lived there all his life.

Even now, arguing with the vegetable stand people, with the lighter pieces of clothing he'd brought and his unshaven beard just dirty enough to look darker than it was, he looked as though he could pass for a native.

All that gave him away as a foreigner were his icy blue eyes, and who really pays that much attention to the color of people's eyes?

At last, Clint collected his hard-won produce in hand and dumped most of it in the backpack, handing her one of the tomatoes as he bit into his own, as though it were an apple.

She pointed at the headlines displayed on the stand, wincing as she prepared to bite into her own. It wasn't all that bad of a taste, although she had to wipe the juice from her mouth with the cloth covering her mouth from public display.

Clint just stood comfortably, munching away and staring at the papers. After a moment, he walked forward, shoving his way through the crowd of newspaper-buyers until he reached the front and beginning a heated conversation with the newspaperman that sounded—to Wanda—exactly the same as the conversation he'd had with the vegetable man.

A dirt-covered boy, maybe nine years old or so, bumped into her from the side. She jumped as three unidentifiable animals covered in dust raced past after him, hooves and paws and whatever else they had interrupting the flow of the crowd.

Something then tugged at the corner of her sleeve. Wanda turned and caught a goat chewing on the side of her sleeve. "Shoo!" she tried to pull free, and ended up smacking it in the nose. "You rotten thing—go away, _get!_ "

" _Baaaahaaaaa!_ " the goat shot back, mocking her.

Wanda glared at it, hands on her hips, but it refused to budge, baring its teeth as it tried for her clothes again.

She turned and looked in every direction. No one seemed to be paying attention, so she furtively extended one finger to the center of the goat's forehead and extended one thought: _bee stings!_ "

Instantly, the goat bawled again, kicking up its hooves and fleeing the scene. Wanda pressed her hands on her stomach as she struggled not to double over from laughter.

Who knew that a goat's worst fear was of bees?

A moment later, Clint was at her side, empty-handed except for the tomato that was dripping juice down his arm.

"You didn't buy a paper?" Wanda asked, puzzled.

"Didn't have to." He took her elbow with his free hand, guiding her on through the marketplace. "I asked the guy if he thought Stark deserved it, after the Wakandan disaster when Hulk broke loose, and he started going off in a rant. Told me everything I needed to know." He continued munching, unaware of how sloppy he looked with the tomato juice going everywhere.

Wanda looked guilty. "You know," she began, "I was the cause of that disaster. All those people Stark ended up injuring—even—killing," she swallowed, "while trying to restrain the Hulk—that was ALL me."

Clint helped her over a pile of rocks as they continued on. "Somehow, I don't think you realized _exactly_ what would happen if you showed Banner a vision of his deepest, darkest fears."

"Well, who would?" Wanda shrugged. "The thing is, I should have known better than to act with that kind of aggression, especially toward someone who wasn't even with you guys but was sitting in your jet waiting for you. I felt like I was invincible, like my actions wouldn't have the consequences they did."

Clint shrugged like he agreed. He finished off his tomato and dropped the stem on the side of the road, "People are gonna hate you, whether you do the right thing or you do the wrong thing. You're gonna hate _yourself_ for things you did wrong and for things that were never your fault."

"Cheery perspective," Wanda wrinkled up her nose, wiping sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand that was still holding her own tomato. She felt some of the juice drip on her face and blinked to get it out of her eyes.

"Yeah, well," Clint avoided her eyes, "when you meet someone in the same kind of mess, you've got all the more reason to give them a second chance. You know that you were just like them once," he added softly, almost speaking more to himself than to her.

Wanda looked down at her boots. "You mean people like Stark," she murmured.

He shrugged. "Yeah, people like Stark. Others, too, though. He's just one out of many."

Sudden screaming and a loud crash up ahead of them startled both Clint and Wanda, and they froze in their tracks hand-in-hand.

A swell had started to grow in the crowd, coupled with loud shouting and the screams of several more bystanders.

"BANG!" went the loud pop of a gun, just as Clint whisked Wanda around the corner.

"We have to do something," Wanda exclaimed, fire in her tone.

"We are," Clint reassured her. "Come on!"

…

Abir ducked behind one of the poles holding up the grocery stall his parents ran, eyes going wide as the gun went off and people began to run. "Stop! Thief!" the nine-year-old screamed at the top of his lungs.

Everyone knew that even if nobody was hurt in the conflict, one man could easily destroy his family's entire business in seconds. They would be penniless again, after years of hard work to pay for this stall without a loan.

The man with the gun appeared out of nowhere behind him, shoving him to the ground. Abir coughed and hit the dirt, feeling his lip bust open as he spun onto his back, seeing the thief sprinting past him into their booth. "Wait!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet. "Father, watch out!"

He ran inside, just in time to see the thief now holding a long knife in one hand, gesturing to the cash drawer as Abir's father held his hands up in surrender, an angry scowl on his brow. "D—don't do anything foolish," his father spoke in Arabic, though his voice shook. "I will give you the money, now stop scaring people and threatening them!"

The thief laughed - not a nice laugh, but a cruel one. "What, you mean like this?"

Abir opened his mouth to shout a warning again but found the man's arm snaked around his neck, cutting off his air supply. He gagged, frightened. How had the man moved so quickly? It was as though he had disappeared from one side of the tent and appeared over by the door, like magic.

The boy blinked once, struggling, and found the man had moved again, this time carrying him with him. Now they were back in front of the cash drawer and Abir's father, whose eyes had widened in horror at seeing his son strangled in front of him.

"I am rushing! I am rushing!" his father cried out desperately to the thief. "Can't you see that I am rushing? My son— just leave my son alone!" He hastily shoved several wads of bills into a sack, preparing to hand it to the man.

Abir flailed in the man's grasp, gasping for a breath, but the air never came. His lungs were burning and the man's arm pressed further into his neck.

A red mist filled the air around his eyes, and for a second, he thought he must be dying. "Drop your weapon," a woman's voice spoke in a strange accent, the silkenness of it melting like honey.

"What…" the man with the gun snarled, as his arm came loose from around Abir's neck. "What is this?"

The boy dropped like a stone, his arms and legs going limp as he hit the ground in front of him.

The man behind the counter's eyes widened, but he lunged for the thief's gun, wrestling it from his grip. The woman extended a hand forward, shooting red beams of light from it toward the boy. She scooped him up with a levitation field and set him back against the side of the tent, safely out of harm's way.

The thief raised his long knife high in the air, ready to come down on the grocer's face, but just as he did, the blade was stopped by another. The grocer stumbled to the ground, caught off guard, but the newcomer began engaging the thief in a heated blade-to-blade combat, striking hard and fast with expert twirls of his foreign-looking sword.

Both rescuers were dressed all in black, with dark hoods and masks over their faces, so it was impossible to tell who they were. All that was noticeable was that, clearly, the woman must have a strange and unnatural power in her control.

The swordsman was exchanging quick, heated blows with the thief, overpowering him within a matter of seconds. He caught the knife on the edge of the counter, letting the blade lodge hard into the wood, and slid his sword upward so that the thief would have to leap back and let go in order to keep his hand.

Instead of stepping away, however, the thief simply vanished.

The dark-clad man and woman exchanged a glance.

The thief re-materialized behind the boy's still-limp body, dragging him up by the armpits. "Leave me alone!" the defeated man hissed. "You don't know what you're messing with—he's _mine!_ "

"That's my son!" the grocer shouted, infuriated. "Let him go!"

The man with the sword held a hand out to stop him from rushing forward. "What did you really come for?" he spoke in a low voice to the thief. "The money? The boy? Or both?"

"You would know," the thief smiled, the faint light in the tent glinting off his white teeth. He gestured to the woman. "She is the same."

"How am I the same?" the woman spoke again, skepticism in her voice. "You are a thief and a coward who likes to frighten children."

The boy moaned as he began to come around, and in the cover of the dark background, the father slid forward and picked up the gun from off the floor.

The thief laughed, and pointed at her. "You know what I mean," he hissed, tightening his grip on the boy. "People like you and me—we belong together. And _he_ ," he gestured to the boy in his arms, "he may not know it yet, but he is one of us!"

"I do not belong with you," the woman replied in a lofty tone. "I belong with my family, and so does the boy. Let him go before I _make_ you."

The thief hissed at her, for the first time revealing long, pointed teeth where he should have had human ones. "You cannot make me do anything."

The woman lashed out immediately. Her red mist caught the man by the throat, forcing him to drop the boy a second time and making him gag.

Then he disappeared again, reappearing behind the swordsman with his knife held ready. The man's quick reflexes barely saved him as he swung around, blocking the strike just as the thief's knife ripped a hole in the side of his clothing.

The woman gasped as blood appeared, and the two exchanged a few blows before the man stumbled off guard, the thief having disappeared again.

This time, when he reappeared, the woman caught him before he could cause more damage and tossed him up against the stand of fruits. Oranges, cabbages, melons, grapes, and tomatoes came crashing down on top of him in a huge pile and the grocer opened fire immediately.

"BAM, BAM, BAM!" three bullets entered just above his chest and the thief fell over, limp.

"Father?" the boy gasped as he came to, sitting up blinking before scrambling over to where the grocer sat, hands shaking around the weapon he still held in his hands.

Their two rescuers were both breathing hard, watching the father and son interact.

"Who was that man?" the grocer asked them, his eyes wide. "Why did they say my son belonged to him?"

The woman walked over to the thief's dead body, not saying a word. She touched his forehead with pale fingers before giving a nod of satisfaction. "He is dead," she said in a strange accent. "He is strange - I do not know what he wanted with your son."

She turned back to look at them and gasped.

The boy's skin was glowing blue. His father opened his eyes, noticed, and uttered an exclamation of horror, starting back from where he was holding him. The boy looked around, confused, before looking down at his own hands and screaming in fright.

"No, no," the woman spoke up quickly, holding up her hands.

"Hey, calm down," the swordsman added, stepping toward them and taking the boy by the shoulders, nodding to the man. "It's all right, see? You just turned blue, that's all." He switched languages, changing from English to Abir's more familiar Arabic. "See, that's what that guy wanted you to do, alright? He wanted to scare you both, but we're not gonna do that, okay? This happens all the time. She's telekinetic," he pointed to the woman. "That guy could disappear on cue. All that's happened to you so far is that you've changed color. Nothing a little makeup can't handle, right?"

"But—" the terrified father scooted up closer, "what are we to do? What is the cause of this—how do we fix it?"

"You don't," the man knelt beside them, keeping his hands on the boy reassuringly. "It doesn't need to be fixed. He might need to lay low for a little while, might need to move away at some point, even. But nothing's wrong with him."

The boy looked down at his hands again, eyes wide. "I'm b—blue," he muttered, still clearly in shock.

"Yeahhhh," the man sighed, slowly. "It happens."

"YOU didn't do this," the father exclaimed, eyeing him warily.

"No, no, no, no," the man reassured quickly. "You know what I think? I think he was born like that. That guy just knew if something traumatic happened it just might manifest itself, and he was right. I think—I could be wrong, but I think your son is a mutant," he told the grocer seriously.

…

"Well, that was fun," Wanda said dryly, as the two of them folded up their gear in an abandoned warehouse nearby. As she tucked her black hood into her backpack, Clint grimaced when he stood up. "You're bleeding," she noted, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, no kidding," Clint huffed, easing off his jacket while trying to avoid the wound.

"Hey," Wanda stooped to look it over. "If you stop moving, I think I can close it up. Watch."

"Wha—no, no, _no_ , I think I'll do just fine without your creepy weird medical magic, thanks…" Clint attempted to protest, squirming away but then hissing in pain when he moved.

"Stop," Wanda rolled her eyes, commanding him. "I've got it if you just stand still a moment and let me. Don't move," she shook a finger at him.

Clint rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, but obeyed. "Ow," he winced, as she started to close the wound with her powers, but waited until she was finished.

"Okay, bandages?" Wanda held up a hand.

"You coulda gotten 'em yourself," he griped as he handed her a few from the backpack.

"You're the one who got stabbed—I'm not just going to let you be the one to stand around and do nothing," she replied with an easy grin.

She stretched the bandages over the long scrape, taping them in place and securing them around his abdomen.

"There, all done. You can go and play now," she teased again.

Clint smacked her lightly with one of the leftover bandages and she doubled back, laughing. "Ssshhh, we're gonna get caught if you keep doing that," he complained, grinning at her nevertheless. He squinted out into the darkening plain and blew out a long breath. "You wanna wait here and sleep tonight, or take a little further trek?"

Wanda tilted her head to the side a little, contemplating. "I wouldn't mind going a little further, if you're up to it."

He snorted. "As if I wouldn't be."

"I'm just saying; you did just get slashed with a carving knife, old man."

"Nicked." Clint grabbed the backpack and hoisted it onto his shoulders along with his sword.

"Same thing in your case." Her lips curled back amusedly. She grabbed her own, pausing to straighten her hair and wipe the sweat from the corners of her eyes before letting him pull her to her feet.

The two of them snuck carefully out of the warehouse, setting off down the dusty street side by side into the twilight.

"Do you think that little boy will be all right?" Wanda asked after a while, her voice low.

Clint waited a moment before answering. "Hard to tell. He still has his father, and his father knows it's okay to have a son who's a mutant. That's more than most of 'em have these days."

"Have you met a lot of mutants before?"

He snickered. "What, you're not a mutant, like that crazy guy said you were?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know I'm not. You were there in Sokovia because of the human experimentation in the first place, dummy."

"Watch your language."

" _You_ watch your language."

Clint chuckled. "Nah, I haven't met a whole lot of 'em. SHIELD was trained to manage situations like that when they first started becoming a big deal, but we've kept things pretty much under wraps. The mutant community likes to handle its own, especially since SHIELD is government funded, and our government hasn't really decided _how_ it feels about mutants."

"Or superheroes in general," Wanda pointed out.

"That's very true."

They walked in silence for a little while, when a tiny smile started to appear on Wanda's face. "I think it would be fun to be a mutant," she hypothesized. "To know that your powers were really yours and didn't come from an outside source. I wonder if we'll ever meet any more of them?"

"Who knows?" Clint shrugged, ignoring the tug in his side. "This was only the first week!"

 **Stay tuned for what the ppl (and chickens) in the minivan are up to…thanks and bye for now!**


	10. Where Is Everybody?

**A/N: This is based on the tumblr post #whereisfalcon by perspi-looks. Go check out perspi-looks dot tumblr dot com ! (Idea used with permission :D ). Also a huge thank you to Zarannya for beta-ing and putting up with my craziness! I had to re-write this chapter because it was awful—that's what took so long. Hopefully more frequent updates from now on!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Thank you, dear!**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: Ohhhh, yes :D More mutants are coming!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: YaY! Oh yeah, Magneto is most necessary based on the story title, rofl! Thanks so much for reviewing.**

 **AndreKI: I'm glad you enjoy it! Much more to come :D**

 **LadyLucina28: They will definitely meet the X-Men! It must happen! Also, thank YOU for reviewing!**

 **Guest: Thank you SOSOSOSO much for the tips on Algeria. My knowledge is practically zero for that country, so I definitely appreciate the help on improving accuracy in my writing! Thank you for reviewing and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!**

 **Ookami Sakura: I am so glad you appreciate X-Men :D I just love them! Sorry it took so long to update—here we are!**

 **Karli1252: I'm so glad someone appreciates the sword fight! I love sword fights—they're so awesome. And I agree; Clint and Wanda are too adorable for words. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **NerdyEnchantress: I'm so glad you liked it! LOTS more Daddy/Daughter moments coming :D**

 **theicemenace: Wow, thank you for all the reviews on the different chapters! I really hope you continue to enjoy this story. You're right about 3, Tony IS kind of used to dealing with Ross by this point. I'm trying to figure out exactly how much tension he's able to maintain with such a powerful man post-Civil War; as angsty as I would like to make the story, Tony is used to flipping people off no matter what kind of big shorts they walk around in. THAT would be funny, if Sam and Scott and T'Challa and literally EVERYBODY was trying to sweet-talk Wanda. Clint would FREAK OUT. Please enjoy the rest of the story!**

…

 **Alright, that about sums up replies to reviewers! There are so many—thank you all so much. I'm truly thrilled. Please continue reviewing or send one my way if you haven't already. I love getting feedback!**

…

Chapter 10: Where Is Everybody?

Steve ascended the stairs to his and Sam's dingy hotel room in Morocco, balancing two glasses of juice with five plates of bagels in one hand with a bowlful of butter and cream cheese packets, a plate of fruit, and an extra bowl of oatmeal for himself (he wasn't really able to carry two of those with the rest of the food) in the other.

After what Wanda had done in Wakanda, the more-bewildered-than-furious King T'Challa had ordered them to leave his nation, but still agreed to offer amnesty to Bucky provided that Steve gave his word that he was working on a solution to have his friend eventually removed from cryofreeze.

As if Steve needed a _king's edict_ to begin working on the issue that was at the forefront of his mind.

Scott and Hope had elected to run off on a honeymoon—or _something_ — together, instead of staying with the two soldiers.

He and Sam were on their own now.

Steve nudged the front of their door open with his foot, trying not to spill the juice as he moved. It was only five a.m., but he knew that Sam was almost as hungry as he was. Nabbing their continental breakfast in the wee hours while the other hotel guests were sleeping was the safest way to prevent them from being recognized.

When several moments passed and nobody answered, Steve rolled his eyes and kicked the door again. "Sam?" he grunted impatiently.

Still no answer.

Ordinarily, Steve would have been worried about invaders when his friend didn't answer the door right away, but he had put up with Sam's sleep-talking, sleep-walking, and overall sleep- _ending_ habits for a while now. When they were on a clear-cut mission, Sam pretty much slept with one eye open, but during stopovers like these and in Wakanda, his subconscious tended to get the better of him.

Steve wasn't concerned this time. He knew the chances of there being a real problem to the likelihood that Sam had rolled over and stuffed his pillows around his ears when he heard Steve knocking were about four thousand to one.

He still sighed in exasperation, lowering himself cautiously to the floor and setting his precious goods down on the moldy-smelling carpet, one by one. Then, straightening, he pulled the key card from his pocket before propping the door open, gathering his things again, and stepping inside.

Sam was not buried beneath the covers, but instead, slumped over staring at the TV.

Steve gave him a curious glance before setting down the surviving remnants of the feast on the countertop. Something about the way his pal was sitting just didn't seem right.

"Uh, Sam?"

It was then that Steve noticed the most alarming thing he'd ever associated with Sam. The Falcon's cheeks were wet, silent tears having fallen steadily for at least the past few minutes.

Steve's insides froze. "Are you…" he couldn't think of what to say, "…are you _crying_?"

Sam didn't look away from the glow of the box in front of him. Steve zeroed in on the activity on the screen.

There was a little old lady, maybe sixty-something years old, barely five feet tall with her hair curled in tight pincurls. Her dress was ironed and pressed to very edges of its flowered cuffs, holding up a sign in protest and shouting for all her voice was worth.

Behind her, crowds of people swarmed through Central Park with similar signs bearing phrases such as "BRING HOME THE AVENGERS!" and "WHERE ARE OUR BOYS?" The most prominent one that nearly made Steve's jaw unhinge on the spot read, "WHERE IS FALCON?"

"That's my Momma." Sam's voice was grave and even.

Steve swallowed the huge lump rising up in his throat, but it wouldn't quite go down all the way.

Sam drew in an even breath. "You know what Ross will do the second he sees this?" He met Steve's eyes. Steve had never seen so much hidden terror in his friend's ever-collected-and-calm face. "He'll use her as a target," Sam was bitter, answering his own question. "He'll use her to get to me. Then you, then Barnes, then whoever else he decides is a 'danger' to the public."

Steve took an involuntary step forward. "We'll protect her," he promised.

Sam gave him a look of surprise. "You don't have to pull that bullcrap with me, Not-Cap," he teased, though his expression was dead serious. "You and I both know we can't protect her. We're wanted criminals—in a hundred and sixteen countries."

"We'll get her out of danger, then," Steve amended. "We can at least try, Sam."

"No," the Falcon sighed, eyes clouding over. " _I'll_ get her out of danger. She's _my_ mom."

"You're lucky you _have_ a mother to protect," Steve's eyes dropped to the ground.

"Yeah, well," a corner of Sam's mouth turned up in a smirk, "she's somethin' else." His gaze drifted back to the scene playing out on public TV.

"I want to come."

"You can't. You're too high profile, especially when we fight side-by-side. Not to mention you'd just make a mess of things," Sam added, in a half-teasing manner.

"Just try to get rid of me," Steve folded his arms across his chest and smirked at his friend.

"What are you, a leech?" Sam declared, pretending to be annoyed.

"What if something happens to you?"

"What if something happens to my _mom_ because we're too chicken to go our separate ways every now and then?"

"At least let me stand by," Steve begged.

"Boy, you're almost as bad as Riley," Sam muttered, so low under his breath that Steve barely heard. "Look, you can come, but we're doing exactly as I say, so no fooling around," he raised his voice to a lecturing tone.

Steve stood erect with his feet spread apart and his hands clasped behind his back. He felt like he was back staring into the face of an angry drill sergeant. Sam had never assumed superiority in their friendship before. This was a new and bizarre turn-for-the-strange.

"We do as I say, and not how you want," Sam continued, stern voice not abating.

"Are you pulling—uh, pulling _rank,_ Sam?" Steve asked incredulously.

"Well, you're not a real Captain, so yeah," Sam replied bluntly. He then reached over and snagged a bagel from the pile. "Eat up," he ordered, and Steve raised an eyebrow that the Falcon either ignored or missed. "We move out in six."

Steve raised an eyebrow at his bagel. Technically, he still outranked Sam, by a _lot,_ but he kept his mouth shut anyway.

… … … …

"Explain to me the purpose of this—video game," Vision's brow furrowed, as Peter rushed around setting up all of his controllers to the Avengers compound's huge entertainment center.

Technically, it was used for briefings and watching the news, but Peter was proud to have come up with a better use for it.

"I dunno," Peter shrugged, handing Vision his own controller and fiddling with the battery compartment on his own. "They're just cool, I guess."

"Is 'cool' being used as a descriptive word metaphorically referring to low temperatures?"

"Uh—no," Peter deadpanned. "I mean 'cool' as in awesome. I guess—Playstation's cool because it's got better graphics and rendering, but X-box has a bunch of games that are exclusive to it. That's why we're doing X-box right now."

He finished hooking up the system, turned the TV on, and gestured to the screen as the menu for Halo 5 came up.

"It is like an interactive motion picture, then," Vision examined his handset, tapping it slightly to make it come on. "A form of escape from the realities of life."

"Exactly! Which is why this is a great thing to do when we get done with a long morning of research. All we've got to do is sit back, relax, and stare at the screen."

As the gameplay began, the android raised his eyebrows at his controller, realizing how much, in fact, the screws and lined compartments along its surface made it look like a small version of him. "Indeed," he sighed, tapping the buttons absently.

Spider-Man and the android had bonded significantly since Tony had invited Peter for a brief visit at the compound. Peter didn't find it awkward that a guy like Vision had the knowledge of a thousand computer systems and the life experience of a two-year-old. He thought it was fun explaining everyday concepts to his new friend.

Vision himself thought it intriguing to study the habits of a human youngster, and to offer assistance with his scientific projects from time to time.

In spending so much time with Peter as a new companion, Vision was trying not to think of his relationship with Wanda, and how abruptly it had come to an end.

He wasn't sure whether their bond had been an altogether—beneficial—one, or not.

It had certainly distracted him, and that had caused his companion Colonel Rhodes to become permanently disabled. Nevertheless, being with Wanda had been—pleasant.

"I get bored easily," Peter admitted with a sideways smile, flopping back into the sofa cushions to begin the game. "You should probably know that about me."

Vision smiled. He could relate. A mind like his roved constantly.

Also, not having Wanda around—it was as troubling to him as Mr. Stark's sudden disappearance. Or perhaps a shade more so.

Vision felt an unfamiliar sense of loss whenever he turned toward the kitchen, intending to cook something for her, and remembered that she was no longer present. Or when he began a training session and struggled yet again with the difficulty of no longer having a live partner whose strength could match his own.

Or—best by far—when the peaceful tunes from the strumming of her guitar came floating out from underneath her door in the early evenings. (The first time she had played had also been the day they'd had to 'talk' about his entering her room through less-than-conventional means.)

"Uh, Viz?"

The android startled and looked over at Peter, who gestured to the controller in his head.

"Are we gonna play?"

"Yes, yes of course," Vision replied quickly, adjusting his position on the sofa and pressing the prompted buttons to begin the game.

He was also concerned about Tony. Vision had grown accustomed to finding the billionaire up at all hours of the night in his lab or study, working to pass sleepless time, and he and Vision ended up keeping one another company.

Altogether, the android found that human relationships were far more difficult to navigate than they appeared.

" _Tap, tap, tap, tap!"_

Colonel Rhodes entered the room, propping the door open with one hand and wheeling expertly through the doorway. "Hate to break up the party, boys, but we have a situation."

Peter unwillingly tore his eyes from the screen, trying to pretend he wasn't disappointed at missing out with his bro-time with Vision.

"Tony's missing, guys," Rhodey sighed and wiped a hand across his face. Clearly he was restraining himself from spitting out the word, 'again'. His gaze adjusted to Peter. "I'm gonna need you to leave for a while, and head back to your aunt's."

Vision felt a foreboding sensation, and immediately rose from his seat in concern.

Peter immediately lost interest in the game, starting up so fast he almost fell off the couch. "Wh—wh—what wait what do you mean, head back to May's?!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Rhodes, I've gotta help you! If Tony's missing—I can't just leave you here and not help you find him!"

Rhodey looked into Peter's—painfully—young face and sighed. He _liked_ Peter—pretty much everyone _did_. He hadn't approved at first of his staying in the compound on weekends, but when Tony told him about his uncle's recent death and the kid's already prominent local publicity in NYC, compassion had weighed out over his concerns about Peter's future involvement with the Avengers.

Tony, however, was at best a _poor_ mentor. As much as Rhodey cared about his friend, he knew Tony was unpredictable—sometimes even a little manipulative. "Look, kid," he scratched the back of his head, "If you get involved in this, there's no telling how much media attention you're gonna get, and now is just not the time for us to handle that."

"But—"

"No buts," Rhodey's eyes were sympathetic. "I know it's hard, but we'll find Tony without your help. There's too much danger out there for you to go wading into it before you're even old enough to drive."

"But we're his _friends_ ," Peter mumbled, staring at his shoes. He kicked the side of the couch halfheartedly (it still moved about five inches further than it should have). "Y—you, me, Viz—" he hesitated before lifting determined eyes to Rhodey's. "He needs all of us."

Rhodey shook his head. "I'm sorry, kid."

Peter started to leave the room, but stopped and turned at the doorway.

Rhodey watched him from his wheelchair, sorry that he'd had to put him down like that. The kid was a really good one, better than almost any he'd ever worked with before. He was also ridiculously worried about Tony, even though he knew the jerk was probably out fooling around somewhere in Pokeyville.

"Mr. Rhodes," Peter's jaw worked reflexively, as he furtively met Rhodey's gaze, "d'you think there's anything—any way we could have stopped him fr—from disa—disappearing? You know?"

"The way I see it," the soldier replied slowly, tracing the edge of his wheelchair with a bare knuckle, "is this: Tony gets himself into trouble. There's no way anyone could possibly prevent _everything_ that happens to him." He swallowed and fixed his gaze on Peter. "I know a woman who tried."

Spider-Man looked like a deflated balloon, arms hanging at his sides, face drooping despairingly.

"It's our job not to hate him for it, and to try our best to get him out when we can," Rhodey tried to smile.

Peter's mouth twitched. "I can't help with that?"

The Colonel actually hesitated for a second. But, in the end, common sense won out. He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Peter. I really am, but there isn't."

Peter's face fell even more, if that were possible. "Guess I'll just go home to Aunt May," he mumbled, kicking at the elevator this time. A low chuckle rumbled out of his chest. "She probably misses having me around all the time; I'm always messing around over here. I've—not been taking care of her—like—like I promised…" his voice trailed off.

Vision watched him go with a saddened expression. The two had been good companions for one another over the last few weekends.

"Anyway, see ya Mr. Rhodes. Good luck finding Tony, and—thanks for letting me stay in the Avengers compound—it's pretty sweet."

"You're welcome, Peter. Come back any time; just give me a heads-up first."

"Sure thing," Peter chuckled, a real one this time. He gave a little salute as he backed into the elevator. "See ya later, Viz. Uh, _ciao,_ guys. See ya round. Bye."

Even Vision could recognize that the kid _didn't want to go._

Rhodey gave him one last appreciative look before turning back to his smartpad, looking through the emails he'd received one more time to see if there was any information about Tony.

"Would you like me to make any calls?" Vision asked, seating himself beside him.

"Sure, just no video chat," Rhodey joked, ignoring the fact that it fell flat.

He didn't need to explain to Vision that when Tony Stark went missing, it was always a disaster somewhere on a 1-600 scale.

… … … …

" _It's the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse! Come inside; it's fun inside-!"_

Tony slouched so low in his seat his seatbelt got hooked on his chin. "Kill me now," he muttered under his breath.

Beside him both of Clint's older kids were singing along happily, bouncing in their chairs as they echoed all the words that came out of the front speaker word-for-word.

"How does Clint put up with this?" he begged Natasha, who was sitting, relaxed and reading a weapons magazine, in the front passenger seat.

"He turns off his hearing aids," the spy shrugged, unaffected.

"And what about you?"

"I'm a big girl, Stark. I can put up with a little music."

Tony blinked. "This isn't music," he protested, again quiet enough that the kids wouldn't hear. He craned his neck to the side, studying Clint's elder son.

He hadn't thought about Cooper much the last time he'd seen him; mainly because Ultron was a primary concern and the thought of Clint having a wife and kids at the time was just _weird._ Still, he'd peg the kid as intelligent.

A little more intelligent than the lyrics he was currently enjoying so thoroughly seemed to suggest.

He nudged him in the arm. "How old are you again?"

Cooper stopped his unceasing cantation long enough to answer with a proud grin. "Eleven."

Tony wrinkled an eyebrow. He wasn't trying to be mean, but— "Isn't that a little old to be singing—" he gestured, "you know."

Cooper started to get a little red-faced and Tony almost felt bad he'd said anything. "Um," the boy started, "uh, well, I guess it's sort of for little kids—I just—"

"Cooper can sing whatever songs he wants!" Lila piped up beside him, in an unexpectedly loud, shrill little voice. "He's a big boy and he likes to sing with me and he's allowed to!" she squirmed in her car seat, facing Cooper with a slight pout. It made her look like she was a mom telling him to stand up for himself or she'd give him a walloping. "Isn't 'dat right, Cooper?"

Cooper flushed again, and laughed. It was a nervous eleven-year-old's laugh, relived and uncertain all at once. "Yeah, she's right I guess. I like to sing stuff even if it's for little kids."

Tony's eyebrows went up as Lila engaged him in a heated staring contest. "Okay, then," he made a big show of shrugging it off, but restrained an enormous sigh as the next song came on.

" _In the tiki, tiki, tiki, tiki, tiki room, In the tiki, tiki, tiki, tiki, tiki room, All the birds sing the words and the flowers croon, In the tiki, tiki, tiki, tiki, tiki room!"_

He caught Cooper just then, giving him a look Tony had seen on Clint one too many times. That mischievous twinkle, just waiting to get himself caught—

Tony's eyebrows furrowed as Cooper hid an explosive grin. _"The little punk's trolling me…"_ he inwardly seethed. _"He's a perfect clone of his dad. Guess I won't have to run any DNA tests anymore."_


	11. Frenchmen in Spain

**A/N: Hallo everyone! Thanks again for your patience! Some of y'all requested some backstory regarding how Clint became a swordsman, so here it is, at least a little. Thanks for your support and reviews and thanks to Zarannya for beta-ing!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Thanks so much! If Bucky gets his mind healed in this story, it will probably be at the very end. Wanda's a little busy right now, but eventually she'll think of it ;D She'll probably be pretty embarrassed she never thought of it before, haha.**

 **StrangeInterests32: That is actually a really good idea! I would love to bring in Aunt May somewhere in the middle of Tony and Laura and the gang's travels. Thanks for the suggestion. I'm so glad you liked all the bro bonding moments!**

 **LadyLucina28: Your reply actually made me think about that a bit more with 2 Quicksilvers...I have an awesome plan for that now, heheheh! Petey is so cute, isn't he? Thanks for your review!**

 **Bree Colbern: Thank you so much! Hahaha yes, well-except half the time I think Tony only pretends to be annoyed, lol.**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: ME TOO! Clint's children are the best, lol. Poor Tones.**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: Unfortunately, Clint doesn't exactly stand a chance :p except that he IS a master strategist. So maybe. Maybe...not 1 on 1, though, that would be bad. Besides, Clint's been injured so many times I'm pretty sure he has a decent amount of metal in him lol. YASS! I'm so excited you noticed the Ant Man Wasp thing! I love them so much...Hahaha yes we shall see what happens to Tony. Thanks again for your wonderful reviews!**

 **Karli1252: I'm so glad you liked it! Hahaha that ending was totally the idea of my wonderful beta. Not mine ;D Hope you like this Wanda/Clint stuff we're getting back to! Thank you for reviewing; you really make my day!**

 **Time of the Flame Heart: HA! ;D So glad it made you laugh. Poor Tony, lol. Thanks so much for reviewing!**

 **gandalf537: Woohooo! I'm glad you're so excited; I am too! Tony is in for it, fo real. Oh, I'm so glad you like the part with Sam's momma! It's going to be super cute, I guarantee :D**

 **James Williamson: You pretty much hit the nail on the head :D I've been trying to add more imagery, so hopefully it comes out, but part of me just wants to get the story done and in one piece, with minimal plot holes! Sharon and Dr. Pym are both fantastic ideas! I'll see if there's a place for them...I'd especially like to bring in Sharon alongside Martin Freeman's character whatever-his-name-was. They both didn't get enough screentime. I agree that Tony and Pym would be AWESOME. Natasha is in the story, currently with Laura and Tony and the kids. It might be a role that downplays her abilities a bit, but I like to think that Nat's loyalty to Clint kept her close to the family while he was in prison. Thanks as always for the amazing review! Your thoughts are SO helpful!**

 **...**

 **Frenchmen in Spain**

"Spanish food not liking you?" Clint's blue eyes twinkled at Wanda over their table in a small restaurant off the Atlantic coast.

Wanda wrinkled her nose as she stared at the menu. "I'm not really a fan of blood sausage and cold soup."

"There's like, twenty other things on this menu that aren't blood sausage," Clint chuckled, surveying his own menu. "I've been to this place three times before. It all tastes good."

Clint eventually ordered _Menu del Dia_ , while Wanda stuck with the children's spaghetti and meatballs.

He made a face at her when she ordered, and she glared in response while talking to the waiter in broken, halting Spanish.

"We're in Spain, and you order Italian. Really?" he asked pointedly as the other left.

"Occasionally, I like not to be adventurous," she replied. "It's been three weeks since we started traveling, and we've been to a grand total of nine countries in that time. I'm taking a break." She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder nonchalantly.

Clint had an unhappy look on his face, but Wanda merely thought he was pouting and changed the subject.

When their food arrived, Clint gave her another disgusted look. "That smells awful," he glared at the offending dish.

As if to spite him, Wanda picked up her fork and took a huge mouthful. "Mmm. Best stuff I've ever had," she sighed with her mouth full, exaggeratedly rolling her eyes. "That's delicious. You should try some."

Clint winced. "Nope, I'm good."

Wanda finished chewing and swallowing before she grinned. "You're weird, Old Man. Who doesn't like spaghetti?"

"Me."

"Everyone on the entire Earth likes spaghetti."

"You know what's _waaaaay_ better than spaghetti? Blood sausage," Clint held up a bite of his on a fork and grinned, a little too forcefully.

She shook her head in annoyance and finished the remainder her food. As they waited for the check, a stranger walked past and dropped a single scrap of paper on the table.

Wanda's eyes widened as she looked toward Clint.

His gaze had zeroed in on the back of the woman's head, fixing on her for a long moment before she disappeared into the crowd. He turned back to Wanda and slowly shook his head. Cautiously, he reached for the paper. "Could be poisoned," he warned, raising his eyebrows across the table at her.

"You wouldn't touch it if you thought it was," Wanda pointed out. She craned her neck to read the words as he held the paper out for them both to see.

There were only two.

" _Zambele's Wonders,"_ the paper read.

"Do you know what it means?"

Clint merely grunted in reply.

"I could find out what it means if I read her mind back there. I could still find a trace of her."

"True, but she won't know what it means anyway."

"Why?"

Clint stared at the paper a long while, before a strange, slightly pained smile edged at the corner of his mouth. "I saw her hands. She's not the type."

… … … …

"Okay, what _type_?" Wanda huffed in exasperation as the two of them ran through the city minutes later.

Clint was zigzagging in seemingly pointless directions, scanning the wharfs for something he wouldn't tell her about.

"Circus type," he acknowledged finally. "We need to get out of here before they decide we're too valuable."

"A circus?" Wanda stopped in her tracks, holding her side and breathing hard. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

Just then, Clint appeared to spot something and ran up ahead.

Wanda sighed loudly. "We're on the run from nearly every government in the world, and he's afraid of a _circus._ "

"Shut up, Wanda," Clint replied tightly, continuing to jog as she caught up to him.

Wanda's eyebrows shot up. " _Excuse_ me?"

He stopped abruptly and held out a hand to slow her down. "This is serious!" his eyes darkened as he looked toward her face.

"Okay, explain it to me, then!" she exclaimed hotly.

"I can't—" Clint started, then frowned, irritably. "They're tracking us. If we don't go where they said to go—well, then they'll turn us in. We'll never get aboard a ship to the U.S. without them finding out which one and reporting it to the U.N."

" _Who_ is tracking us?"

"Like I said," the archer bit out, "the _circus_." He pointed to the paper they'd received. "Sounds fun, right? Well, it isn't!"

Wanda was taken aback by his strange attitude, but she stared at him evenly for a second before shrugging. " _And_ —?" she prompted.

"And _nothing,_ " Clint grumbled. "Just watch your back. I'd rather they knew us by our alternate identities, but it's already too late for that if they're planning to turn us in."

He strode away without another word, his posture stiff and his arms held tense at his sides.

Wanda snorted inwardly before following a few steps behind. "How do you _know_ they're planning to turn us in? They literally gave us two words," she grumbled to herself.

…

Hol Naquest leaned back easily in his wooden chair, his performance sword held comfortably in his lap as he sharpened it. Each stroke was made without effort or attention, the ease of each movement born from a near lifetime of practice. "Zambele?" he called out gruffly, pausing to itch his short, dark beard. "Any progress?"

"Hawkeye isn't stupid," the elderly, wizened Frenchman replied with a roll of his eyes. He held up his phone, a string of texts from their contacts throughout the city lined up before Naquest's eyes. "He will come just as we asked him to."

"No, he _isn't_ stupid - he's three times as intelligent as any of us!" Naquest practically exploded off his chair. He swung his sword, not intending to harm, but to let off some steam. Zambele stepped backward anyway, glaring at him. "This is the problem," the performer explained to his boss. "Hawkeye will come here, yes. But he's been working for the Army, for special operations, for spy agencies, for the Avengers! This man has no interest in helping us! He will massacre us before anything else!"

Zambele turned away, unaffected, taking up several of Naquest's other weapons, which were lying on the table, and examining them with a calloused finger.

"He broke out of a United Nations prison!" the younger man continued. "If we make a deal with him—even _if_ we get to make a deal with him—it is _us_ who will be in the most trouble for harboring him as a fugitive!"

"Or we can pull off the biggest heists we've managed yet, turn him in, retire, change our names, raise our children off our fortunes in Switzerland, and no one is the wiser," the circus owner replied dryly.

"You think _I'm_ stupid." Naquest pointed an accusing finger at his boss before slumping back into his chair, tipping it so far back it made the older man cringe for thinking it would tip over. "Give me," he held out a hand for his weapons, and Zambele rolled his eyes and handed them to him.

Naquest began stroking his sword with an absent, possessive expression. His lips twisted slightly.

"I wonder if the information we received is correct regarding him," he questioned the air, "and he really was raised in a one-ring circus founded by an American trailer park. I wonder how good he is with a sword," his lips curled upward as he examined his blade.

"Probably not as good as with his bow," Zambele replied with a grunt at his employee's strange fantasies. "Good thing, too; maybe he'll shoot you from a mile away while you're waving that thing in the air and I won't have to put up with your mouth anymore."

Naquest started up, angry. "My fears are real and truly founded," he growled, sticking the point of his sword in the ground and twisting. "If you don't call this off, you'll be thanking ME for cutting his head off." He retreated back into the chair so quickly it seemed to hang in midair for a second before tipping forward just enough to keep it from falling. "That is MY part of the plan."

"It's a risk, I know," Zambele raised an eyebrow as he turned to leave. "But I am old. And I have kids. You'll thank me one day."

"I'll thank you in hell," Naquest grumbled, keeping the chair tipped as he settled his booted feet on the tabletop. He lifted the sword into his lap and ran it over the sharpening stone once more. "Hawkeye will never see THIS coming."

…

"At what point do we stop purposefully walking into this trap and I get to mind-control all of the acrobats into not following us?" Wanda pulled her hooded sweatshirt up over her face so it was no longer visible. She gave a wistful glance toward her backpack. She'd become a bit fond of her Raven costume, but these carnies already knew her true identity. Better they didn't know her alternate one, too.

Darkness had begun to fall over the Spanish docks as Clint and Wanda finally located the open grounds where Zambele's circus tents were pitched.

"Right," Clint stuck his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowing at the pink-and-yellow stripes under flying banners at the very tops of the tents. "This is bigger than I thought."

"What? You've never been to a circus before?" Wanda asked in surprise. "I used to go all the time. When Pietro and I were little… we used to sneak into the tents sometimes for free after our parents left us. It was fun," a small smile flirted at her lips.

Clint's frowned deepened, if that were possible. He didn't answer her question as he turned up his own hoodie, looking like a regular vigilante with his sword across his back and three pairs of knives stashed along his pant legs. The beard he'd grown during their travels didn't help him look any more like a harmless teddy bear, either. His appearance was as menacing as Wanda had ever seen him.

"Well, don't just go replying to everything I say," the girl huffed, starting to get REALLY annoyed with how secretive he was being. "Clint, I know you're trying to be dark and mysterious, but can you at least tell me what the plan is?"

Clint heaved a sigh through his nose, relaxing slightly, to her relief. "Yeah. Best guess is, they're gonna try to make a deal with us. Probably one involving us stealing a whole lotta money for them."

"Which…we're not going to. Right?" At this point, Wanda felt like she had to clarify _everything_.

"Right!" he answered quickly, "Right, right, right. But they're smart. They'll see your powers coming from a mile away."

Wanda folded her arms across her chest. "If this is referring the time you electrocuted me…"

Clint almost, ALMOST grinned at that. He gestured to the tent. "Imagine a whole roomful of me's," he joked.

"It's not like they can overpower me," she rolled her eyes.

"They can trick you," Clint looked her directly in the eye, serious. "I mean it, Wanda. If we don't step lightly, they'll turn us in and we'll never get to see the other side of this ocean. Except maybe from another underwater holding cell," his voice turned hard and bitter.

Wanda felt the bile rising up in her own throat at the memory of the isolation and the shock collar treatment she'd been given. "Clint?" she asked, in a lower, more resignated tone, "How do you know so much about circus people?"

Clint's eyes dropped and his expression softened a bit before he spoke. "Let's just say," he replied in a husky tone, "Not everything about me is a thing you want to know, kid."

…

"Hawkeye!" an aging man with long, curly, shoulder-length silver hair greeted them at the entrance to the tent.

Wanda did her best to look at ease, but something about the man's posture didn't seem right even to her. Clint, for his part, wasn't even trying to look relaxed. He carried himself stiff as a board and his expression was downright _murderous._

"We are so glad you could come," the man continued. "Please step inside."

"We're not going in there," Clint replied flatly. "If you're going to threaten me, we'll settle this in the open. Thanks."

The other man, who must have been Zambele (unless the circus' name was only for promotional purposes), flinched but stood his ground. "I will consider that your counter move, since we contacted you first," he agreed after a long moment.

Wanda looked from Clint to Zambele. Both were trying to establish dominance, not letting the other gain an inch of ground. She just hoped this man had NO idea how much of a power imbalance actually existed between the two sides. He hadn't even so much as nodded in her direction—how rude of him.

"Let me ask you a question, Hawkeye," Zambele leaned against a tent post, looking for all the world the most calm and relaxed of the three of them. "Why so defensive?"

"Defensive?" Clint replied in a mocking tone. "Tell me you don't have thirteen or more highly trained fighters behind that tent flap, trick weapons prepped to kill if I don't kiss your ass every time you open your trap—?"

"Will you not come inside?" Zambele pleaded, redirecting the conversation. "Out here, the authorities will hear us, and whether or not they arrest me, they will most certainly arrest you and your girlfriend first—"

"You're not afraid of the authorities," Clint loudly called his bluff.

"Why do you not trust me enough to let me speak?!" the circus owner demanded, also raising his voice.

"Oh, I wonder," Clint's eyes lit up with a dark fire. "In my experiences with carnies—and I've had a few with Frenchmen traveling in a foreign country—you're nothing more than backstabbing thieves. You're going to tell me exactly what you want us to do, and precisely what you're going to NOT do to us, and validation enough that I don't kill you all right here and now. Because—do I need to say this again? I DON'T TRUST CARNIES."

Wanda felt her breath catch in her throat as he ended his speech.

Zambele stared for a moment. "Very well," he answered, in a much lower tone. "And if I allow you to TRY to kill us, will you concede at least to an audience?"

"How much are they paying?" Clint's voice was dangerous.

Wanda was desperately trying to send little messages to him telepathically, but he was rejecting everything she tried to say. _"This is a bad idea!"_ she was exclaiming, but he didn't even hear it. _"Hush, please! Talk to me for a second! Don't_ KILL _people, Clint; what are you thinking?!"_

"Fifty seats, to the highest bidders," Zambele's white eyebrows settled low over his dull brown eyes.

"Deal," Clint replied. "You won't survive the night."

" _CLINT!"_ Wanda practically screamed in his head. He actually winced a little, breaking focus for the briefest of seconds, but his composure soon returned. He was ignoring her. AGAIN. Wanda felt close to tears—if they weren't in such a high-sensitivity situation, she would be cracking. What had come over him? What was she supposed to do when Hawkeye started acting like a maniac? What was anyone supposed to do?

A red light snaked across the dried-up grass and clouded Zambele's eyes before she even realized what she was doing.

"Run."

"What?" Clint started, aware of his surroundings again.

" _Run,"_ the circus director repeated in a haunting voice, his body stiffening up in contrast with his former ease. "Run! Get away from here. Just _run_!"

Clint's eyes widened and he whirled on Wanda. "What are you doing?" he yelled.

Wanda gasped and dropped the man. "You were going to kill them!" she accused.

"I had a plan!"

"What _plan?_ The plan I asked you to tell me and you refused to?" she shouted back.

Zambele fell to the side, dazed, but just as Clint had predicted, at least a dozen other circus performers came running out of the tent, armed to the teeth.

The archer whirled around, knives already in hand. "Take out the ones in front," he hissed, catching two performers coming up behind them by surprise. He hurled his projectiles at them, landing three effective shots that would incapacitate them before they had a chance to realize they'd lost the element of surprise.

Three more, however, one of whom held a handful of deadly-looking colorful darts, were on him before he could stop them. Clint wrestled one to the ground, smacked the other so hard in the face with his fist that he went down in a single blow, nose bleeding everywhere, and turned to grab the other one by the shoulders as he lunged toward Wanda with the darts in his hand.

Clint called her name desperately, but it was too late. She had been hit with two of them, and was already staggering on her feet as Clint knocked the last of their attackers to the ground.

"WANDA!"

...

 **OH! What? It's a CLIFFIE! Stay tuned for the next part :D and as always, thanks so much for reading!**

 **~Marina**


	12. The AMAZING Hawkeye

**A/N: Hey Y'all, thanks for sticking with me! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Super duper thanks as always to Zarannya for beta-ing! I am pleased to announce that the full plotline is totally coming together, and in the next few chapters we'll be seeing the beginning-of-the-end, so to speak :D**

 **Gandalf537: HAHA yep, I looooove cliffhangers! I hope this chapter makes it worth the wait, though!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Wanda 'messing things up' is kind of a theme of this story. It's supposed to be about her growth as a person who struggles with her identity and her powers, and also some anger issues ;D she'll start getting it soon, though! Thanks for the review!**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: YaY! I'm sooooo glad people appreciate Clint's incredible backstory—it's SO cool! This isn't totally comic-canon, obviously, but it's just such a fun world to explore. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: :D oh, wooden arrow, yeah *smacks forehead* as if wooden arrow is some special kind of arrow, lol. Oh, Magneto is so dead hahaha. And yes, biggest problem here is Clint being broody ;D Thanks for the review!**

 **Sgdplh1261: Wow, thank you so, sosososoooo much for your review! You are so kind! I'm super happy that you are enjoying the story. I hope you'll continue to come back for more! :D**

… … … … …

 **The AMAZING Hawkeye**

Wanda's fingers buzzed with a flicker of red as the darts sank into her neck and shoulder. The performers in front of them flinched, then fell to the ground, just as unconscious as she now was.

Clint caught her before she landed, dragging her a few meters to the side to prevent an incident if one of the performers he'd incapacitated decided to pull something in spite of their injuries.

Zambele lay in the midst of the bodies, white hair spread over the ground as he drooled into the grass beside his own tent. Even with all the noise they'd been making, there wasn't a cop car in sight. Clint had been right—there was no reason to fear law enforcement in this area.

He caught his breath, more winded than he should have been. Clint's ability to deal with circus-based crime rings had been one of the main reasons a high school dropout-turned-criminal had even been hired to join SHIELD, but that hadn't made it fun. At this point in his life, Clint would've liked to think he could leave this piece of his past behind him, but _nooooo_. _Someone_ was stupid enough to pull him _back into it._

He and Zambele were going to have a little chat, and Clint wasn't going to be shy about taking out the emotional rollercoaster he was currently suffering from on the circus owner's internal organs.

"Anyone else in there wanna get a piece of their ass sliced off?" he called out in the direction of the tent.

When there was no response for a second, Clint started to turn and gather up Wanda.

Poor girl, she hadn't deserved to become a victim of his own fail—

"Amazing," a chortle came from within tent, deep with mockery.

Clint froze, muscles tensing before he lowered the girl once more and turned to face the sound.

"Very amazing," the maybe-thirty-year-old man repeated, as he emerged from the tent flap. He ran a practiced hand along the sleek, polished sword at his side.

Clint felt a little sick just looking at the beautiful weapon. He'd seen that French style before.

"Your woman. Is she part of your act, or is she just your personal bodyguard? It all becomes clear," he smirked broadly, stepping fully out of the tent and facing Clint sideways.

Clint sighed, drawing his own sword as he stepped toward him. "What do you want?" he griped, really not wanting to go this route. He'd rather just catch a boat and get Wanda out of here, but at this rate, the other performers might wake up before they got on board.

"The Amazing Hawkeye insults me? This early into a duel? We haven't even established that we're dueling yet. My name is Naquest," the other man added scornfully, raising an eyebrow in disgust.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate fighting with teenagers? All they do is talk," Clint sassed in reply.

The maybe-thirty-something swordsman ignored the insult. "Some of those knife wounds look pretty bad," Naquest craned his neck to see the pile of haphazard, wounded performers starting to sit up, clutching their wounds in pain and watching the two opponents with wide eyes. "Take Shenelle, for example," he pointed to one of them, who had taken a knife to the shoulder. "The girl had promise. What if she never swings from a trapeze again because of you?"

"I don't know," Clint's lip curled slightly, "I've tried it. I can think of a few much worse ways I could have changed the course of her life's history."

"You mean you could have killed her."

"I'm trying to decide if I need to kill YOU."

"Or you just missed."

Clint's eyes narrowed and he finally let a tiny smirk grace his lips. He held his sword ready for attack. "I NEVER miss."

He lunged first.

Offering the first blow, in a contest with a much younger and hot-headed opponent, was never a good idea.

For your _average_ prodigy, anyway.

This younger swordsman had no IDEA who had trained his opponent.

Their weapons clashed instantly, grinding metal-on-metal for a testing moment before releasing each other's hold. Both swords swung around, Naquest's fast and Clint's faster. Nevertheless, both seemed perfectly at ease. They weren't even straining to keep the other at bay.

Below them, lying in the grass, Wanda's breathing began to quicken audibly. Naquest looked down between parries. "Poor little Witch," he grinned unapologetically at Clint, who blocked his next strike with a little more force than necessary. "Looks like she got a little more than knockout serum. That's a nasty combination."

Clint's eyes narrowed in concern. " _What_ combination?!" He was breathing hard by now, but his blows were so rapid that they drove Naquest back in the direction of the tent.

The younger man's eyes started to look a little panicked, but the second Clint had him cornered, he smirked again and sidestepped, now out of Clint's way and twice as fresh. "Let's just say she won't be able to move for awhile."

"Paralysis?" Clint's eyes darkened.

"I think so."

"You _paralyzed_ her?"

"It'll wear off, Old Man!" Naquest bared his teeth triumphantly. "Now give me some more of that fighting style - I've never fought with someone I learned so much from as you!"

"Oh, I suppose you'll be beating me in no time," Clint grunted, voice laced with sarcasm, before slashing downward toward Naquest's hands.

The other man pulled out of the way just in time to save himself some missing fingertips. "My brother used to fight like you," he noted in a calm voice. "He was also a traveling swordsman, a renowned performer. A student of Jacques Duquesne."

From the ground, Wanda's eyes had opened. She was watching them both intently, even though she couldn't move the rest of her body.

Was that a momentary panic she saw flash through Clint's eyes? Either way, it was quickly replaced.

"Small world, then." Clint grunted as he parried another thrust, steel clashing as sweat dripped down both of their faces in the summertime heat. The orange sun shone from where it was beginning to set across the ridge, blinding either of them when they turned in just the right direction. "I was a student of his myself."

The other man smirked at him, but Wanda could still feel the nervousness bubbling up in his mind when he considered this. "Oh, yes? Then why am I not already dead?"

Clint swung around in a flawless parry and smirked right back. "Maybe I'm enjoying myself."

Naquest's eyes went a little narrower. "Wait. You cannot be saying," he huffed as he blocked another of Clint's smooth blows, "that you trained under both Trick Shot _and_ the Swordsman?!"

Clint's chin squared with some kind of guilt-ridden pride. "There were two of us that trained under both of them," he explained, "but _I_ was the one with the natural talent."

"Oh, of _course_ ," Naquest snorted. "But I heard you came from a one-ring circus. That cannot be true if you trained under two of the greatest masters of all time, you know. It's not even fantastic. It's illogical to believe such a thing!"

"Yeah, well," Clint smirked, "Tell that to your own blood-covered ass."

Naquest's confusion barely had time to register on his face before Clint had taken a trick swipe to his rear end, nicking the flesh just enough to make it instantly begin dripping red. "You insult me!?" the other swordsman exclaimed, repulsed as he fought to maintain focus and dodge Clint's continuing blows.

"Yeah, well…I've been told I don't know what's good for me." Clint gave him a nasty grin.

"You know, for complaining about how much I talk, you certainly babble a great d—"

Just like that, Clint decided to end the fight. It was shocking just how quickly he could manage it—almost like it was a game to him.

He drove his sword down toward Naquest's foot, blocking the other's sword as he threw his entire body up and over the man's head. He wrapped his legs around the other's neck, twisting sharply as he borrowed Natasha's famous move. Both bodies slammed into the dirt. Clint slapped the ground hard, rolled, and recovered quickly.

He grabbed Naquest's own sword before reaching around and stabbing his opponent through the back of his shirt before he had a chance to retaliate.

As the younger swordsman lay, panting and gasping in pain on the ground, Clint formally stood and picked up his own sword. His blood was on fire. He was ready to do this; he was READY to make an example out of the man he'd bested.

Duquesne hadn't had _any_ problem making one out of both Clint _and_ his brother. Clint had learned from the best.

He pointed the blade straight toward Naquest's right arm, intending to slash a long scar down it and end it with an arrow on the man's palm.

A faint puff of red, however, stopped his hand.

Clint looked down at it, fingers wrapped around the handle, back toward Wanda, who was gazing at him from on the ground with wide eyes.

The red disappeared, but he made no move.

Clint's chest heaved. He grit his teeth at the internal struggle. He deserved this. He deserved a chance to show the circus he was better than them now.

" _And bloodying your enemies as much as you can is the most effective way to do that?!" she practically screamed in his head._

Clint gulped, having not realized he'd allowed Wanda to hear his thoughts.

She was right—he was slipping. How had he lost focus on what was most important?

He smacked Naquest on the head with the hilt of his sword before wiping off the blade in the grass and positioning it across his back once more.

Naquest slumped to the ground, unconscious, still bleeding from the wound in his back.

He would live.

Clint, of all people, would know what it took to kill someone and what it took to merely wound them within an inch of their life.

The trapezist girl whose shoulder he'd stabbed earlier watched him, while clutching her arm and sobbing in pain. He gave her a look to indicate that she would regret pulling any more tricks as he turned and gathered up Wanda in his arms.

She nodded her understanding and stayed put—smart girl. She might become something.

Not that he'd become all that impressive. Just your average guy who could beat anyone in a sword fight. You'd think it was the Dark Ages.

" _You're not average,"_ he could hear Wanda's telepathic snort, despite the fact that she was limp in his arms. _"You're my Dad."_

Her eyes were open and she tried to continue whispering in his mind on their way back to the docks, apologies and reassurances and scoldings for being such a fool and not telling her anything ahead of time.

Clint was just glad she couldn't see how much he hurt. She could see the memories being recognized by circus masters brought back; she could see how they affected him. He tried to push her away, even then. Wanda didn't need to know everything.

What she could never see was how much he'd loved his brother, once. How much he'd trusted him and Duquesne, however cruel his methods may have been. How he'd spent half his life thinking that cruelty was evidence of love.

" _We both lost it back there,"_ she murmured in his head, trying to soothe/reassure him.

" _Let's just get out of here,"_ he replied shortly, adjusting her floppy, dead weight in his arms.

He wasn't sure he could smile just yet.

" _Let's go home."_

…

The lap of waves rocking gently against the sides of the ship woke Wanda from a deep slumber. She yawned, craning her aching neck to see she'd fallen asleep sitting up, leaning against Clint's shoulder.

They were packed tightly together in a small hiding spot within the cargo bay. The room was pitch black—the only way she could see her surroundings was if she lit up the air herself with small bursts of energy from her fingertips.

"Can you talk yet?" Clint asked beside her. His voice was a deep rumble that sounded very much awake.

"Uahm," Wanda tried, but it felt as though she were chewing on a mouthful of cotton balls. "Noph weallee." Fantastic—the paralysis dart was still working its magic. At least now, over ten hours later, she could move a little to adjust her position.

Clint chuckled a little, shifting to wrap an arm around her shoulders. It was stifling in the bottom of the ship, and her skin was sticky with sweat despite her tank top and shorts, but she rolled her eyes and complied anyway.

" _Where are we going?"_ she asked in his head.

" _Canada,"_ he replied. _"I've got a safe house near the border. We can sneak over into the states without too much hassle once we get there."_

" _No one will expect us to head to Canada before we enter America,"_ Wanda agreed. She lifted a stiff, clumsy arm and tried several times to scoop her dark hair back away from her neck. Clint let her try for a few moments before laughing and brushing it aside himself.

Wanda tried to make a face, but she was pretty sure it didn't show and it was too dark for Clint to see anyway _. "Your hands are sweaty,"_ she complained.

A cold, wet finger stuck itself in her ear a second later and Wanda yelped aloud, jumping to the side and giving Clint a poorly-aimed, clumsy smack across the cheek.

He doubled over with laughter, stretching out on his back across the filthy iron deck.

Wanda just growled in her throat, unable to make any more movements without risk of embarrassing herself further.

She was hesitant to use her powers for casual purposes. She was confident of using them when she had to, but when she thought too hard about using them beforehand the result was rarely what she'd intended. She didn't want to accidentally—wring Clint's neck, or something, while messing around.

Although, to be honest, the real reason she held back was because she was relieved to hear him laughing after what they'd just gone through.

She'd lost control _. Again_. And not just control over her powers—she'd lost her patience, just like she had with Ross in Wakanda. Her mind gently played over Clint's, interacting with the memories he allowed her to see, like a child in a garden of flowers. How innocent her powers could be, when she was relaxed and didn't feel like she had to make the decisions that made or destroyed people's lives!

Clint thought of himself as 'just a guy'. He didn't have any powers, or magic that made him special. Oh, he was special enough all by himself, but Wanda was beginning to see the merit of that attitude. If it wasn't for Clint, she wouldn't know what it was like to be—just a girl, sometimes.

She yawned a second time, nuzzling sleepily against Clint's shoulder. The heat was making her drowsy, even though she had no idea what time it was. _"Aren't you going to sleep?"_ she questioned.

" _I dunno. You want to keep watch?"_

" _Sure. I can do that."_

" _You won't fall asleep?"_ she could hear his skepticism.

"Hmmngh?" she said aloud, eliciting a soft chuckle from the archer.

"All right, as long as you're sure," Clint rustled through his backpack, pulling something out to stuff beneath his head. _"Keep good watch, Raven."_

" _Aye, aye, Hawkeye,"_ she replied, smiling, in his head.

Wanda blinked herself the rest of the way awake and ignored the way her head started to pound as she settled in to keep watch for him.

 **Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? FEED THE HUNGRY BOX! :D [please?] You guys are THE BEST!**


	13. People Don't Change

**A/N: Hola from very NOT-sunny Mexico! I'm on vacation and super excited to have Wi-Fi because it's raining ^_^ so here is the next chapter! Thank you to Zarannya for her amazing input on this chapter—it was written with love, I can assure you that. Disclaimer: Tears to come! *If you're into that sort of thing…**

 **THIS STORY NOW HAS OVER 100 REVIEWS! OMG OMG OOOOMMGGG! Thank you guys so much for all your wonderful support, ideas, and enthusiasm! May this story have plenty more readers to come…:D**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: Gosh, when you put it that way, it sounds so immature…lol. I'm not sure if Scott and Hope will make another appearance—any ideas for how they should show up, if at all? Peter may end up in the next chapter, if not, the one after. He's not really a super duper important character in THIS story though, you know? :/ there's just so many characters. I feel like some of them might have to slip into the background after they've had their moments of fame. Thoughts?**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Super awesome :D Oh they will eventually, be assured! Otherwise the others wouldn't be taking up so many chapters, grrr hahaha. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Rosesroses25: *chompchompchomp* box thanks you! He is very happy now! SOOO glad to have you as a reader! Thank you for reviewing; it really makes my day! Hope you enjoy this next chapter ;D**

 **Gandalf537: Whaddaya know? Shorter wait this time! :P Thanks so much for your awesomeness!**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: Right?! Hawkeye is the best. Thanks so much for reviewing!**

 **Time of the Flame Heart: ISN'T WANDA ADORABLE? Hehehe I love it waaaay too much; so I'm super duper glad you did too! Thanks soooo much for reviewing! Yeah, I don't think politeness is much of Clint's thing, hahaha. Vision and T'Challa and Steve are the polite bachelor's club. Clint, Tony, and Pietro came from a whole 'nother planet, I think ;D You tell 'em!**

 **Bree Colbern: Your reviews always make me smile so big! I'm SOOO glad you liked it!**

 **Mightymedfanfic: Thank you sooooo much, OMG! I'm so glad to have you as a reader! Hopefully you're thrilled with what's to come, as well!**

…

People Don't Change

 _Bedford-Stuyvesant, New York City. 2005._

"Can I have—"

"No," was Clint's flat response.

Barney's lip twisted, not sure what angle to try next.

"No more cash for your little stunts. Get your own. I'm _broke_ ," Clint explained, spreading his arms wide with the dishrag in one hand. He had been cleaning up his kitchen when Barney had started pounding on the door—CLEANING, to his brother's utter befuddlement.

"You got three million dollars in your basement," said brother snorted again, knowing if he just stuck to his guns all the way through this, Clint would come through for him. Eventually.

Clint stared him down this time, however. There was real heat behind his glare, unlike the other times Barney had come to him begging.

"I counted," the elder Barton added, helpfully.

"You so much as _look_ at that money again and I will string you up by your toenails," Clint warned.

He looked serious, so Barney hesitated before speaking again.

Every now and then, Clint got up one of these moods. So far, though, Barney had always been able to wheedle him over to his side.

"You could put it in a bank, like a normal person," he muttered. "Can I have a drink at least?"

Clint hesitated, fixing him with a suspicious eye as he pulled out a bottle of liquor and a glass. He uncapped the bottle, poured a small amount, and started to hand it to his brother.

Barney reached for it just as Clint frowned and splashed him with the drink, right in the face, before tossing the glass with a loud _crash_ into the sink beside them.

The elder Barton stilled instead of retaliating, stunned. For once, he was desperate enough that he could restrain himself from lashing out.

He sniffed, coughed when the burning liquid went down his lungs, and cautiously lifted two fingers up to rub his eyes dry. "You broke your glass."

"I noticed."

" _Come_ on, man!" Barney pleaded with him. It looked pathetic - the gnarly older brother sitting slouched on the stool, begging up at his proud, insolent junior. "We've had some good times, have—come on, I'm gonna end up in jail!"

"Yeah, well, you shoulda been there a long time ago."

"Never stopped you from helpin' me out before," Barney frowned. "I thought brothers tried to look out for each other. It's what I've done for _you_."

Clint's jaw twitched severely. He leaned over the counter, elbows up, so he was looking Barney straight in his matching steel-blue eyes. "I have worked to keep you out of jail since the time I got on board with SHIELD," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "You haven't been looking after me; I've been looking after _you_. And it ain't getting any better, is it, Barn?"

"Where's this all coming from?" Barney folded his arms across his chest, puffing it out slightly.

Clint's eyes darted furtively to the left and right, checking for any suspicious listeners at the windows of his scraggly apartment. "I got more important things to worry about. I got a steady girl again."

"Oh, I've heard _that_ one only a thousand times before," Barney groaned, running a hand down his face.

"You _know_ how much I thought that might never happen again," Clint added, angrily. "I…also mighta kind of got her pregnant," he added, as though it were an afterthought, but clearly it had been intentional.

Barney started up. "WHAT?!"

"So I'm _sorry_ if I'm a little busy right now," Clint continued, pretending to ignore him as he started scrubbing furiously, "but I got better places to put my cash. You know how much dough your bosses have decided to hide away while you were too much of a leech to part with them? A lot," he answered for him, tone sharp. "You know how many laws I've broken for your sake? _Also_ a lot."

"Since when do laws make any difference to you?" Barney hunched over the counter with a sour look.

"I'm not going to jail when I've got a baby in my house," Clint explained, gulping as he did so. "That's only a step above what Dad was to us, and you know he ought've been in jail."

"Don't talk about Dad to me," a dark look crossed Barney's eyes, as he started to his feet.

He did _not_ appreciate the way this was going. The two brothers stared evenly at each other.

"I hate him, and I hate _you_ and every other man that dares stand in my way. I'mma have justice, you better believe me. I'll have it sooner or later, you mark my words, Clinton Francis Barton." Barney's face inched a hair closer to Clint's. There was an evil glint in his eye, and he was proud of it, in some dark, twisted way.

"You can take your justice and shove it in a grave, along with Dad and your boss," Clint growled in return, fists planted on his messy kitchen counter.

Barney's fist swung back, like he was about to hit him, but he stopped just in time, a wounded snarl on his face. He spun around, turning his back so he wouldn't have to look at his brother. Just meeting his eyes would make him lose his cool again, he knew.

He didn't want to do that. Not again, and not in here. It wasn't the time.

"Mamma could've been good, you know, Barney," Clint continued, more quietly this time.

It had been years since they talked about Mamma. Barney felt a low growl rising in his throat. She'd been almost as bad as Dad.

"She tried to love us, you know," Clint insisted, all the innocence of the six-year-old he'd been when they died worming its way into his voice.

Barney knew exactly where Clint's opinion on Mamma's character had come from; he'd fabricated his own version of the story, based partially on truth and partially on what made sense, with an unhealthy dose of how-he-wanted-it-to-have-happened in there, too.

The elder brother frowned at the table in front of him. The memories, real and fabricated, still hurt like a physical ache inside his chest. He imagined they did to Clint, too, even though he'd never understood the truth. His kid brother had been through _way_ too much for someone his age. Then again, Barney had too, and he had never complained. Not until _now._

"She burned the food on purpose," he told Clint, a bitter edge in his tone. "She burned it to feed to _him_ , 'cause she wouldn't stand up to him no other way. He was bigger and stronger and he would beat her. Then she gave it to us, 'cause we weren't any better than him, and she knew it. All those folks at the Agency and the circus who crooned and coddled and said 'we were just kids and didn't deserve it'? They were _wrong_ , Dummie. We were _his._ I've tried to be different, but it don't work. People don't _change_ , Dummie."

He bit the side of his cheek, hard, and huffed a breath through his nose.

Clint stood motionless, blond head bowed over his crossed arms.

Those arms that had held the weight of bows Barney himself would've shaken under; and despite the fact that he'd always been second to Clint, Barney had been firmly established as one of the best archers in the business since a young age. He, Clint, and Trick Shot used to sit around the crappy televisions in bars, laughing insults at Olympic archers who thought they were something special. Shooting at fancy targets in specialized environments was one thing. Trying for high scores that put numbers in books was the same. Learning to fight with and use one's bow as an ancient, yet necessary, art form was something else entirely.

He and Clint had pulled through so much muck together, none of it their fault, but all of it deserved.

The only thing they were both good at was shooting.

That's what Clint didn't understand.

That was why they couldn't ever turn their backs on each other.

They were both all the other had.

They were crappy enough that no one else would ever want them, yet skilled enough that they _couldn't_ just give up on each other.

Clint waited a long time, searching for the right words, before he spoke again. Barney was surprised by this—usually Clint was known for blurting out the first stupid notion that entered his head. "Maybe people can't change, Barn," he said in a quiet voice, avoiding his brother's piercing gaze. "But—you know, Laura gave me this chance."

Barney's eyes darkened.

"She's—ah. She's better than me; you coulda predicted that, I know. But she's counting on me." Clint moistened his lips and finished, slowly. "Thing is, I'm not trying to be perfect or to change. I'm just trying to do my job and take care of her—I—" he bit his lip, "I'm just trying to do my job."

There was silence in the room for what felt like a good long, five minutes.

"What's she like?" Barney asked at last, reluctance in his voice, but not as much anger as either had expected. "Nothin' like Mamma, I take it."

"None of your crap about Mamma," Clint replied, though softly. "You're right; you kind of always are. Laura's a civilian. She's nobody. I ain't telling you anymore about who she is—I don't want you to hurt her," he added, with a touch of pride.

"She know who _you_ are?" Barney questioned gruffly.

"Of _course_ she does," Clint snorted. "She's a civilian, but she ain't stupid."

"Stupid enough to stick with you."

"Yeah, she's that."

"You ever beat her, like you tried to with Bobbi?"

There was a long, stretching silence, during which both of them could feel Clint's bubbling like a pot about to overflow.

"We've been over this," Clint expressed at last, pointed a warning finger in his direction.

Barney held up his hands with a snort. "Fine. Forgive me for having _concern_. She left you over that—if she'd stayed she'd be no better'n Mamma was. What about your kid? You gonna raise your kid right?"

"Why're you asking stupid-ass questions?" Clint was angry now.

"You're never gonna hit him?"

A slight, angry smirk hit the edge of Clint's face, and his eyes glowered. "Not like Dad."

"You're never gonna call him names?"

"Not like you."

"You're never gonna drive him 'till he breaks?"

"Not like Duquesne, Barn, now enough of your crap. Get out of here 'fore I kick you out."

Barney blew out a long breath. "Man, I'm gonna be an uncle. I don't know how to be an uncle any more'n you know how to be a Dad."

"Don't let it get to your head. If I have my way, he'll never even see you 'till he's a grown-up man."

Barney's eyes flashed. "That's the real reason you're sending me to jail, ain't it?" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "To keep me away from my baby nephew. You're so sweet and protective, it makes me _sick_." He spat the final words, each filling with more venom. "Come on, man, just _give me the money!_ "

"You're sending yourself to jail. You're a bowstring shy of dragging me in there with you, but I _ain't_ going," Clint shook a fist vehemently, close to the counter. "I've got a kid to raise, and I'm not gonna beat on girls no more. Laura—she's the last one for me. She's gonna be it. I _love_ her, and I'm gonna make sure she never, ever, _ever_ has a reason to give up on me."

"Fine," Barney snapped. "If you want to keep your new girl and her baby and choose them over me, after all we've been through, you just go right ahead." He started to get up, knocking the barstool into the wall as he did so.

Clint watched him, calm and determined to stick his ground this time, as his brother's face went red with anger and he stormed out of the apartment, exiting via the window. Because when had the Bartons ever left the proper way? "What?" he called after him. "You're not gonna put up a fight? Smash my skull into the refrigerator? Or are you coming back to do that tomorrow, huh?"

"Over what?" Barney snorted, his tone bitter as stale milk. "If you're gonna turn your back on me like that, what exactly am I fighting over? You might as well be dead meat to me, _Brother._ "

Right before he climbed out, however, he turned back around. Fist shaking by his side, Barney took a huge breath, obviously trying to calm himself. He wasn't good at that sort of thing, but at least he tried.

"You sure suck as a brother, Dummie, but maybe you'll make an OK dad? Just maybe. You try and see if you can do something right for a change. If you do, I expect to hear about it, jail or no jail!" There was the slightest tinge of affection in Barney's tone, despite the suppressed anger bubbling just beneath his surface expression.

Clint tossed his rag in the sink and leaned over the counter, surprised but trying not to show it.

Barney winced. "Do it for both of us, huh? If I still mean anything to you? Do it for both of us."

Clint swallowed the lump that was building up in his throat, and nodded.

…

 _Present Day, Somewhere Close to Canada_

"Just because there are kids back here does _not_ mean I can refrain from using foul language," Tony declared to the front-seat team members. "I dare you to keep me locked up in here another hour."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Stark, don't you think you would have been gone by now if you really wanted to leave?" Laura burst out, turning around from where she now sat in the passenger's seat while Nat drove.

Tony sat up a little straighter. Laura rarely raised her voice, especially not when the kids were sleeping. She'd already gotten after him at least four times for doing the same, however, so maybe she was getting the feeling that not ALL her kids were asleep. The loudest, most obnoxious troublemaker of them all was still wide awake, staring her down from the center row.

It was late at night. They had nearly reached the Canadian border, having taken a leisurely pace to get here. The route Natasha had chosen had required nearly ten days instead of the usually-required two and a half.

Part of this was because they were taking unused routes and leaving rabbit trails for anyone who tried to follow them. Another part of it was because they had to figure out how to switch out cars without breaking nearly as many laws as Natasha was accustomed to and still fit the chickens in the back. And the most prominent reason by far was because having Tony Stark, three children, and a coop of poultry riding along in the back seat tends to only be bearable for two to six hours at a time on any given day.

"I don't want to hurt your kids' feelings by taking off. Kids get upset about that I-didn't-get-to-say-goodbye thing," Tony pouted, crossing his arms over his chest as he slouched in the seat, Dollar Store T-shirt and sweats having replaced his normally pristine, high-class wardrobe.

As much as he hated to admit that she was right, his behavior (aside from what went on _inside_ the vehicle) almost seemed as though he had _wanted_ to help them keep a low profile. After all, he was ordinarily a 'walking billboard'. He could have made quite a fuss by now if he really wanted out.

"You don't want to go back," Laura insisted, though her eyes were sympathetic. "And I don't blame you, Tony – why else do you think we brought you with us? We're trying to help."

Tony's eyes dropped to the back of the seat. Telltale dark smudges beneath his eyes suggested that, even away from his normal life, his mind was still haunted by thousands of puzzles he couldn't seem to solve.

It didn't matter how much of a genius he was. He still couldn't sleep.

"No. No," he said, holding a finger up, "I will not be guilted into apologizing for getting Clint arrested. That is _not_ how this conversation was supposed to go. I was supposed to be complaining and being my usual self, and you were supposed to be rolling your eyes at me and _sighing_. That's what parents do. You're a parent, right? You're not supposed to be so…sappy."

Laura narrowed her eyes. "Do I _look_ like I'm a 'sappy' mom, Tony?"

"Yes," he stated bluntly.

Up front, Natasha snorted.

Laura rolled her eyes and sighed—but at Natasha, not at him.

Inwardly, Tony panicked. _"She's still trying to be nice to me…"_ For the first time, he actually considered he might have to leave soon. She was right; he really hadn't minded at all. Up to this point. Now she was going to demand information. He would feel guilty for not giving it to her, it was all going to go downhill from there, and the kids would all wake up to witness to it…

 _Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope_ , he was getting out of here. They were not going to have a 'talk'. He wasn't mentally prepared to have a 'talk'. He reached for the door handle.

"If you unlock that door, I will break into your mansion and personally dismantle every single one of your AI's," Natasha informed him coldly, without removing her eyes from the road.

On second thought, maybe it would be best to stake out for another few hours. 

But who was he kidding? Tony knew he could joke around all he wanted, but at the end of the day he was trapped. Who he was…what he'd done…people like Laura and Natasha and Steve and Ross and Wanda would run him down and choke him until the end of time.

Of all the bits of wisdom he'd accumulated in fifty or so _un_ -wisely spent years, he knew with his whole heart that people didn't change; not really.

Tony Stark, himself, was living proof that reformation was a scam.

"Tony," Laura interrupted his thoughts with a firm, if slightly annoyed, sigh.

"I think the Geneva prisoner of War convention said something about close quarters and poultry farming," he deadpanned.

"I think the Geneva Convention said something about electrocuting submissive prisoners without trial or reason given," Laura hissed, eyes boring holes into him all of a sudden.

Tony's back straightened before he even had time to think about it. He was instinctively at attention when confronted with that tone, especially from Clint's wife. "So we bent the rules," his voice remained rock-steady on default. "Those guys were afraid for their lives."

"Clint wasn't afraid of her!"

"Clint is not afraid of anything! The guy is a total badass."

Laura's eyes flashed as Natasha drove the van onward steadily. "Clint is terrified of anything that puts us in danger—any one of us, here in this car right now. And yet he brought _you_ over to our house not twelve hours after you finished _creating_ Ultron. Tell me your logic for that. He brought Natasha home immediately after she almost killed him; _twice_. If we're still talking about Wanda? Wanda babysits for us twice a month. She rocks our one-year-old to sleep," her voice lowered and she jumped as she realized her voice had been climbing and the kids stirring slightly. "And you thought putting her in a shock collar would make her less dangerous? Have you never heard of the word ' _provocation_ '?!"

Tony winced. "She was aiding and abetting the Winter Soldier's escape!" he protested in a hushed voice. "Not to mention, she made a tunnel the length of a golf course in the middle of the Avengers Training Facility."

"Both of which she was backed into a corner and forced to do, after you turned Vision against her and locked her in her room," Natasha replied, coolly, from the front.

"Okay," Tony held up his hands. "I get it. I'm not getting out of here without an apology. Wanda's a sweet girl and I'm sorry I locked her up and didn't see that she was treated better. Are we good?"

Laura's face drooped for a second, as though she were disappointed by his response. She looked to Natasha for help.

"He still thinks this is about Wanda," Nat commented quietly.

"You really do, don't you?" Laura sighed, fixing Tony with a sad, yet affectionate gaze.

Tony merely squared his jaw and shrugged further down into his seat. He wasn't going for any of this.

"Tony," Laura's voice was very, very quiet, "All of this—the trip, you coming with us, our escape—it's not because of _us_. It's because Clint and I noticed something not too long ago, and we made a plan for if you came by again looking to help. You still put us in danger—sure. We're still running for that reason. But the main reason we're running is because—" her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed hard, "Tony, _you're_ the one with the shock collar."

Tony instinctively glanced down at his neck for something that wasn't there, before he realized she was speaking metaphorically. His mind jumped instantly to the visual of Wanda sitting in her cell, playing out on the video feed in front of Ross.

 _Ross._

Ross was his shock collar.

A cold feeling of helplessness crept over his skin, and he could feel his heart starting to beat faster. His vision blurred. She was right.

He was a prisoner, and it was his own fault. His own fault. He could feel it around his neck for a second, the actual cold of the metal holding him at the will of someone else, choking him. A hand went instinctively for it, but then all he felt was his own skin.

"We trust you." Laura's eyes bored quiet holes into his. "That's why you're here. But Natasha and I are here to tell you that you've got to get out before it's too late."

Tony's brow furrowed as he swallowed and stared at the floor of the van. "Before what exactly?" he answered shortly. "Before I snap? Before I provoke myself and I'm not able to handle it? Is that what you're saying? That I'll up and create something else, like Ultron, that almost destroys the world?"

" _Wanda_ provoked you into creating Ultron," Laura's voice cut hard across his soul. "This is _you_ provoking _yourself_. You let Ross back you into a corner and write the Accords and God knows how many other contracts between just the two of you. Weapons, right? Private assassinations, company shares? Nat knows about them in detail. You signed those contracts," her voice softened, "because you think you deserve it. Being Ross's slave, just like Dr. Banner did all those years ago. And maybe you still think that if you give up enough of yourself, you can still save the world."

Tony attempted to sit on his hands to hide them. They were shaking where he tried holding them in his lap.

"Am I right?" Laura's voice whispered hotly. "Isn't that what you're really trying to do?"

Tony's internal panic alarms were going off at the highest rate he could recall.

"Well, then I have some news for you," Laura whispered. "You are not God. You are not going to save everybody. You are one man; one man who is going to crack if he doesn't draw the line somewhere." She reached out and placed a hand on his knee as he began to breathe faster. "We brought you out here because here, you don't have to be the hero," she insisted. "You _aren't_ the hero. To me and Clint, you are not a hero; you are _family_. Me and Nat brought you out here because we know that you're not going to save anybody unless someone else saves you, first. There was no one else to do it but us, so here we are."

Tony seemed to have shrunk in his seat, avoiding her eyes as he looked at the kids. He was every bit one of them, if the vulnerability on his face was anything to go by.

Laura blinked back tears, but Tony never saw them. He didn't want to; he was too lost in his own mind, the things she'd expressed bouncing around in his brain at dizzying rates of speed. He wore a long, dazed expression as his fingers looped around the cloth of the seat belt beside him. "Talk to me? Please?" Laura whispered, after a while. Trying to garner some sort of response; any response, frankly.

Tony gulped, shifting ever so slightly as though moving might upset his current outlook on life even more. "Can we pull over?" he asked in a small, childlike voice.

Laura tapped Natasha's arm with urgency, but the spy was already veering steadily into a gas station parking lot.

She hit the brakes and Tony stumbled out the side door, barely avoiding falling over on top of the sleeping kids as he climbed out. Laura and Natasha both waited, unsure of what they needed to do in order to help him.

The billionaire looked at both of them, eyes devoid of—anything. "I'll be right back," he mumbled after a moment, heading toward the back of the gas station at an achingly slow pace, as though it took massive effort just to pull himself along.

Laura exchanged a glance with Natasha, who nodded. "I'll stand guard," she affirmed.

The young mother (well, she was younger than Tony, anyway), drew in a deep breath through her nose and followed where Tony had gone.

Inside the gas station, under the glare of fluorescent lights, she watched Tony go into the bathroom and shut the door. She slid through the racks of dust-smelling old convenience goods and slid her back down the wall just around the corner.

She'd be here if he needed her.

Sure enough, she heard traces of loud sniffling just beyond the door.

Her eyes squeezed shut; the sound could have broken her heart. She waited and counted to ten to make sure he wasn't stopped, and quickly ran to retrieve the key from the front desk manager, claiming that Tony was her brother and he needed her help.

After smoothly assuring the manager that no, everything was perfectly fine and it wasn't the kind of situation he should be involved in, she rushed to the door, slid the key within the lock, and cautiously cracked the door open.

It wasn't the first thought that people had, when they pictured the great Tony Stark, the mental image of him crumpled on the filthy, toilet-water stained floor of a gas station, body heaving with huge, aching sobs of the ugliest sound known to man.

Laura slid inside, shutting the door behind her and kneeling beside him. She took him in her arms with confidence. She didn't care if he didn't want her there. She just knew he needed someone who knew what they were doing, and while she had no clue what she was actually doing, she could fake it as well as anyone as she gripped his back and knees tightly together and rubbed her forehead against his.

Yes, Tony was definitely her fourth child. She could live with that.

…

 **I'm 99% sure this is going to make some of you cry…sry**

 **Jk lol.**

 **Please review! You guys are the best!**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Marina**


	14. A Family and A File

**A/N: I'm alive, I promise. I meant to have this to you guys before I ever left Mexico. Sorry! Now school has started, so, head's up, updates may be slow but I assure you, I'm committed this time ;D**

 **This is the first story I've written that I didn't just plan up completely ahead of time—I have to keep going if I'm gonna see how it ends! Plus, you guys have had a tremendous impact on how the plot has progressed, which is unlike any other story I've put together on this site. Thanks so much for your input. At the same time, keep it comin'! :D**

 **This chapter is, again, made with love by me and Zarannya and input from a lot of other people in my life! Had some struggles, but I think it all worked out in the end.**

 **BTW, the big reveal in this chapter was Anthony Mackie's idea, credits to him! After you read it go look up his interview on YouTube…he should be a fanfic writer…**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: I warned you! Hahaha. I'm glad I did my job ;D thanks for your review**

 **gandalf537: Just a little, huh? Jk, I hope you liked it! Prepare to cry more later…**

 **Wholockforeternity777: YASS! Oops, *ahem*, I mean, -hands tissue. There. I hope you enjoy this next one! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing.**

 **Bree Colbern: HA, you are caving, YESSS! With regards to Tony, I mean? Just maybe? Lol. I'm just teasing, sorry. Thank you for your consistent support, my dear. It really means a lot!**

 **Karli1252: Laura is awesome! And I'm a teensy weency bit glad I made you cry, hahaha. Means I wrote it the way I intended. Thank you for your feedback! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

 **Black'VictorCachat: Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to bash your response! I actually enjoy throwing ridiculously immature things into—well, not just my writing, lol. Ask my friends. I used your advice on Peter in this chapter :D It worked out super well—thank you so much! I think Laura knows what happened to Wanda because Natasha told her. Natasha—well—knows things, I guess? If Tony knew, I'm sure Natasha figured it out somewhere. Especially since she would have wanted to check up on Clint and make sure they weren't secretly trying to execute him or something. Oooh, yes, the Natasha/Clint backstory I have for this is EPIC! If you want a summary I'll happily send you one. Thanks for all your support!**

 **Mightymedfanfic: Sorry you had to wait so long for this one! I am so glad you enjoyed the flashback. I looooove reconciling Matt Fraction stuff with MCU stuff—it's all so awesome and different enough to make reconciliation a challenge. Glad you enjoyed the part with Tony, too! I hope I didn't write him too OOC… I probably did but whatevs /: if you have any suggestions for that or any part of the story, feel free to let me know! I've used tons of reader suggestions in this story so far :D Thanks so much for your support!**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: TaDa! Read on for Barney! Glad you liked the last chapter ;D Thanks for your review!**

 **AndreKI: I might've written him a little OOC, but yeah, I agree about the Tonester. Thanks so much for your support and reviews!**

 **silverwolf: Oh, believe me, I think the moment you described has already happened in pre-Civil War history! That's a super good prompt, though—I will probably use it near the end of the story! I have a twist in mind, though, so read on if you like to find out…;D Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!**

 **...**

 **A Family and A File**

The farmhouse was empty.

Barney's sharp eyes scanned the perimeter, taking in the slight sense of abandonment that had settled over the place. They had left recently, that much was certain. It wouldn't take too long to catch up with them, unless Clint had already made it back to the States.

He had to get to them.

And after he did, he was going to kill his baby brother.

"Barton," the sharp voice of his liaison sounded in his earpiece.

Barney yanked it out with a curse. "What is it now?!" he growled impatiently.

"Secretary Ross wants to speak with you. He says it's urgent."

"Put him on, then - don't waste my time." His gaze roved over the property again, mental gears ticking. Where had Clint gotten a farm from? The house looked too old to be totally off-record. The property deed had to have been held by _somebody_ before his brother had taken possession—there was still a road leading up to it, after all.

"Barton, I need you in Washington, immediately," barked the secretary over his earpiece.

"The heck do you need me in Washington for, Boss?" Barney grunted, peeved at having been interrupted.

"We have a situation," Ross sighed with impatience. "There's a group of protesters who are making a fuss. I want them dispersed and the leader disposed of."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, will do, _Sir,_ " he emphasized the last word and sniffed. "Send me the profile, and make it snappy. I'll have him out within a day."

"It's not a 'him'," Ross's gravelly tone filled with annoyance. "It's one of the Avenger's relatives. The name is Angela Wilson."

Barney snorted. "Piece of cake."

… … … … …

"How long are we gonna sit out here?" a gruff, elderly gentleman leaned in and muttered, sitting side-by-side with Mrs. Wilson, her family and friends, and a host of other protesters she had managed to gather for the cause.

"Until they give us our boys back." Angela's dark eyes flashed, and she sat up a little straighter on the sidewalk outside the White House gate. Her hands, calloused from years of hard labor supporting her son and caring for relatives, neighbors, and anyone else who needed a helping hand, now rested unmoving on either side of a screen-printed sign.

A friend had designed the signs for her, another had printed them, and her own brother had covered the cost. She wanted no one to mistake this protest for a half-put-together display, oh no. If the men in Washington were going to hide away her son for no proven crime, she would show them the meaning of forthrightness. If those politicians couldn't settle things democratically, she would be the one to show them how.

Now, the expertly crafted signs were being held by over two hundred other volunteers who had camped out in front of the great building in Washington, D.C. They had been there for over two days.

"I just don't know if this is going to work," the man next to her continued, shaking his head. "This is Washington. They don't listen to people like us."

"I don't need someone in particular to listen to us," Angela stated, pursing her lips. "I just need _anyone_ who can bring my son home to me."

Just then, an armored truck veered up along the sidewalk, parking with a squeal of the brakes as a young woman in a tight pantsuit ducked out and waded through the mass of protesters.

Angela and her companion exchanged a glance, then slowly got to their feet.

"Mrs. Wilson?" the woman fixed her with a no-nonsense glare. "My name is Agent Maria Hill. I need you to come with me right away."

"I don't care if your name is Maria Hill, Capitol Hill, Sam Hill, or Jonah Hill," Angela returned, planting her feet on the manicured ground. "I am not leaving this ground until my son is given back to me."

"Ma'am, we have reason to believe your life is in danger…" Maria's eyes sharpened with annoyance, and with urgency.

"Is it? Is my life in danger? Who are you to tell me that my life is in danger? I've lived with hardship and danger all my life. Who are you to tell me that I don't fully understand what kind of danger I've chosen to put my life in, eh? I bet you've never had half the danger and difficulties I've had—"

"Oh, for God's sakes, woman, won't you _ever_ do as you're told?" came a deep, exasperated voice from the direction of the truck.

Angela's eyes shot up past Maria as she squinted at the man climbing out of the rear end of the truck. She took a moment to soak in the dark-clad figure in the hoodie and dark glasses, old shoes, and bandaged wrist.

It was the eyepatch, of course, that gave it away.

"Nicholas Joseph Fury!" she shouted across the crowd, drawing instant attention. "Whatever are _you_ trying to tell me what to do for?"

"Will you just keep quiet for a second so I can save your life? _No!_ You have to go and give away my identity to the entire _city!_ " Fury exclaimed, crossing the distance between them in a handful of long, purposeful strides. He grabbed her by the shoulders and began pushing her in the direction of the van, before a furious Angela spun around and raised her hand to slap him.

Both froze before she completed the action.

Angela looked long and hard down his aging face, past the eyepatch and broad forehead down to his overgrown beard and the newer scars that crisscrossed his skin.

Maria and the protesters, puzzled, stared in silence at the pair.

"Nick," her voice softened, "you son of a—"

"Get in the car," he ordered, in a low voice. He no longer looked angry, just urgent.

"But, my _boy_ —"

"You really think I would have left your kid to his own devices? He came to me because YOU were in danger, not the other way around. Now, get in there!"

Angela's mouth opened, then shut, and she allowed Maria to take her by the arm and escort her through the crowd and into the vehicle. Fury followed them closely, shutting the door behind them as an unknown driver gunned the engine and drove them off.

Inside, Angela's breath caught in her throat at the man sitting across from her.

"Oh, Samuel Wilson, Lord be praised! It really is you!" With a cry of relief, she grabbed her son by the shoulders and wrapped her arms all the way around him.

"Yeah, you want to know which one of us is more relieved?" Sam grunted from beneath her crushing embrace, which he was returning with just as much fervor.

Angela sniffed and wiped away a few tears. "My baby," she cradled his face in her hands. "I was so worried about you. What did they do? Why did they lock you away?! What were they thinking, taking my boy away from me?"

"Momma," Sam groaned, returning her grip, "I haven't lived with you since I was eighteen…"

"Don't talk like that," she shook a finger in his face, not bothering to wipe the tears from her eyes. Sam's expression softened. "You've been a good boy all your life and I'd love you the same even if you weren't. I'm just happy to have you home."

Up front, Steve drove with Maria in the seat beside him. "They didn't tell her anything," Maria whispered to Steve. He frowned. "They didn't tell anyone. All they told the families was what they published in the papers, which were less than biased in your favor, to say the least."

Steve shook his head grimly, glancing in the rear-view mirror at Sam, his mother, and Fury all crowded in the back two rows. "I'm just glad we found a way to help them," he admitted. "Both Sam and Mrs. Wilson. Was she ever in any real danger?" he added, in an even lower voice so it wouldn't be overheard from the back.

"She still is," Maria fixed him with steely eyes. "Don't worry, though. I took care of it."

"How?" Steve challenged, with a look of equal trepidation and a smirk.

Maria tilted her head with a smile. "Oh, now, I can't tell you _everything_ , now, can I?"

Steve chuckled, turning the car down a side road to hopefully lose any attention they'd picked up from Fury's appearance in front of the capitol. "You're way too much like Fury for your own good, anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh, it's not for my own good," Maria arched an eyebrow knowingly. "It's for yours." She handed him a tiny file, half the size of a regular one. It had just barely fit in her pocket, and Steve stared at her for a second before returning his attention to the road and slipping it into his.

They drove in silence for a second, the only sound being Angela's tearful battering of questions she was throwing at Sam, and his equally concerned pileup of his own at her.

"So," Steve began after a long, awkward moment, "What's inside?"

"Call it a favor," Maria replied with a professional air. "Or a 100'th birthday present, if you're into that sort of thing."

Steve snorted. "Ah. You remembered."

"I remember everything."

"So do I."

"I was _born_ with my abilities, Rogers."

"Whatever you say, Agent Hill."

"Oh," Angela breathed, hands shaking as she turned back and forth from Fury to her son, and back again. "Sam, my son—wait, have you already met your father?!"

Two jaws in the small vehicle promptly went slack: Steve's and Maria's. Steve nearly hit the brakes and was forced to turn a sharp corner into an empty parking lot.

Sam, however, didn't realize what she meant until about two seconds later. He grinned innocently at first, then narrowed his eyes and turned at Fury. The smile dropped and he spun back toward his mother. "Wait. WHAT?!"

Then an explosion rocked the car as a four-foot hole was blown in the asphalt just shy of the car doors.

The force of the explosion sent their vehicle skidding a good ten feet to the side, sending sparks flying in every direction. Below them, they heard a sickening, _'snap!'_ as one of the axles broke in two.

All five of them jumped, craning their necks out of the windows. The tires hissed as air began leaking out, but everything seemed okay.

Maria's brow furrowed and she raised a hand to her earpiece. "Uh," she started, "guys?"

"Nothing to worry about, Miss Hill," a teenage boy's voice sounded over the speaker, sounding slightly winded. "Threat's been neutralized. Sorry we didn't get to him sooner."

… … … … …

Barney cursed and wiped the sweat from his right palm, nocking a second arrow.

He'd missed.

Not that he was surprised; missing was what separated him from Clint when it came to shooting.

Clint had never learned how to miss. Barney had never done anything _but_ miss, so it had been kind of useless to learn anything else when he first joined the circus.

He simply learned to miss within a fraction of a millimeter of his intended target—it usually did the trick.

Hence his name, taken from Buck Chisholm, the old Trick Shot. It had been years since Barney had gone by the alias.

Within a fraction of a second, the next arrow was on the string, ready to fire. Then his bowstring sizzled, snapped, and stung him in the face and the side of his jacket sleeve like a steel-laden whip.

Barney spun around, face stinging and a fresh laceration catching the cool breeze as he faced the intruder on his hiding place, ready to strike back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a red-and-gold colored man warned him politely.

A string of white spider webs landed, from out of nowhere, on at least three sides of his bow and it was yanked out of his hands. "So you're the assassin that was hunting down Mr. Stark," Spiderman emerged from the shadows of the rooftop, arms folded over his chest.

"What the—" Barney couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"I'm not sure if his current target is where Mr. Stark is located or if it was a different victim," Vision pointed toward the van that was currently sagging under the popped tires as the driver attempted to gun its engines.

"Who are you guys?" Barney growled, folding his arms over his chest. "C'mon, kid, give me back my bow. You don't know what you're doing—I _need_ that."

"Are you kidding?" the teen responded, holding the bow closely to his chest. "You try to assassinate Mr. Stark, and that's the kind of attitude you give us? I mean, you could at least apologize."

"I should turn him in to law enforcement," Vision sighed heavily. "You need to get back to your Aunt's house before Colonel Rhodes discovers your part in this operation."

"What can't I tell him?" Spiderman shrugged, handing the bow back to Vison. "That SHIELD contacted me personally and asked me to help you catch the bad guy? Granted, I did hack into their systems and read up on all the files on Mr. Stark's disappearance, Hydra, the fall of the old system, et cetera, but I was only doing what Mr. Stark had taught me."

"You may regret missing that exam you have this afternoon, however," Vision noted, concerned. "From what I've heard, no matter how intelligent you are, you do have to actually be present in order to receive a grade."

"Stark? You mean _Tony_ Stark? What kind of clowns are you guys pretending to be?" Barney snorted loudly, gathering their attention again. "I wasn't after _Stark._ You can't turn me in to law enforcement—I work for the freakin' United Nations! And what's Underoos here doing working for SHIELD if he's talking about _homework_?"

Vision and Spiderman exchanged glances.

"So—" Vision cleared his throat, nodding at Barney, "you're saying that's not Mr. Stark who you're trying to assassinate in that van?"

"You wanna go check, be my guest!"

"Did Agent Hill _lie_ to us?" Spider-Man asked, incredulous. "She said we were supposed to be SHIELD's backup in rescuing Tony from—well—she never said where he was being held, did she?"

The two heroes exchanged a glance yet again. "Would you mind holding our companion here for a moment?" Vison asked, eyeing their baddie. "I'd like to see who exactly he was sent to murder inside that van."

"Sure thing," Spiderman reached up to pin Barney to the wall with a flurry of spider webs.

As the teen turned to face the archer, he found—

Nothing.

The rooftop was empty; Barney completely gone.

Peter and Vision both faced the empty space in front of them, both their expressions blank. "Well, _that's_ not good," Peter managed, after a second.

…

 **Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? I'm open to all of them! Thanks for reading, y'all. Ciao for now.**


	15. Down to the Final Option

**A/N: Greetings, readers! I hope you all are well. I have zero things to say today (I know, right?!) so let's continue on…**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: It gets worse, sorry ;P**

 **TheRealTayler13: I'm so glad! Here is your chapter. Let me know what you think! :D**

 **gandalf537: hehehehehe, the part about Barney escaping, or Fury being Sam's dad? Lol. Thanks for your review!**

 **Bree Colbern: Thank you! :D Gosh, Fury is hard to write! I'm glad you liked how it turned out in the last chapter ;D we'll see about this one… :/ Isn't Vision just the nicest guy in the world? And so is Steve—they're all just so wonderful.**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: I know! I cannot believe this either—now I've got to figure out how to show a little more of the story behind their family. Somehow it must be squeezed in ;D Thanks for the review!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: Ross gets even more evil in this chapter, mehehehe. Glad I could pull a surprise one on you! :D …poor Sam… he's so confused right now… Yeah, now I have to figure out where Barney went! *sigh* it's all in the fun. :D Thanks for reviewing!**

 **StrangeInterests32: YaY! I'm so happy you liked it! I hope that readers who are going through something hard might be encouraged by Tony and Clint as well—your past makes a big difference in your future, but it doesn't have to define who you are. Oh, this is so true about Laura! That ending line was more about the moment, though. Laura has more adult-kids than just Tony and Wanda, too; she has Natasha, after all, and undoubtedly others we don't even know about ;D I'm so glad you like Vision and Peter as buds! :D I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!**

…

Down to the Final Option

…

How long should she wait before she woke Clint up?

Wanda blinked heavily, noting it was becoming harder and harder to fight the continuing hammer pounding away in her head. She had no idea what time it was, and time was usually something she was easily aware of with her powers.

Her stomach rolled, and she got up for the second time to go puke under the grating, that being the least messy and conspicuous place she could find in the darkness.

As she leaned over to get to her feet, her ankle rolled underneath her and, eyes flying open in surprise, she tipped over, face-first, onto the floor.

Wanda lay there for half a second, panting as her mind raced to catch up with what was happening. Her heart began hammering faster in her chest, making the pains in her head even worse. Something was really wrong—she should have woken Clint sooner— _notgoodnotgoodnot_ good _—_

She screamed silently as an especially sharp knife of pain seemed to plunge into her skull. She sniffed loudly to get her bearings, before her stomach lurched and the remains of the spaghetti from earlier ended up on the ground in front of her.

"Wanda!" Clint's voice was way too loud in her ear, as he grasped her shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position. "Wanda, what's going on? What's wrong?" his tone was sharp.

"I—I—I felt sick back when we were on the wharf, when you were out finding us a way onto the ship," Wanda stuttered. "I thought it was bad food. I—I threw up a few times," she started breathing faster, letting out little, hiccupping sobs. "I—I—I'm sorry, Clint, I know I should have told you!" her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands. Why was she crying? She was trying so hard to keep it together…but oh, how could she have been so stupid…and her head hurt SO badly!

Clint swore, but he didn't blame her for not telling him right away. At least, not yet. "It's got to be the circus. They must've shot you with something else." He swore again, fingers tightening around her shoulders as he tried to make a plan.

They would be nearing Nova Scotia by now, but there was no telling exactly how long that would take. Would they be able to find help, even there? Wanda wasn't sure. She couldn't think about much of anything, anymore, what with her head feeling as though it were about to explode.

She felt Clint's fingers, rock-steady, find the crevice in her neck where he could feel her pulse. The blood raced beneath her skin, faster and faster as her heart sped up within her chest. "Hang tight," Clint told her, grimly, taking her in his arms for a second time. "We're gonna need to find some help."

"Where can we go?" she breathed in, shuddering as her head lolled feverishly against his shoulder. "Dad? What happens if I die?"

"You're _not_ gonna die," Clint scoffed, a little too forcefully. He was trying to reassure her, but he still sounded tense. "You're not," he repeated. "Just stay awake. C'mon, Wanda, you can do it. Just don't go to sleep, and you'll be perfectly fine."

Wanda turned her face toward his shirt and used it to muffle her scream as another sharp pain rocketed through her head, blinding her for a moment as tears continued to trickle down her cheeks.

"You'll be fine," Clint's voice wavered slightly, but he kept repeating it. Wanda didn't know if he was trying to reassure her or both of them. "You'll be fine. Trust me, I got this. You just do your part, okay? Don't go to sleep. Stay awake."

Wanda did. She fought.

" _Stay awake."_

Those were the last words she remembered.

…

"Someone's coming," Maria barked to the rest of the van's occupants, unstrapping her seatbelt and climbing into the back seat.

Fury leaned forward slightly. "Computer, activate emergency protocol 887," he ordered.

" _Access denied."_

"Sorry, Sir," Maria's mouth quirked ever so slightly. "Coulson had all of our equipment updated to only recognize agents who remained after the Hydra uprising. I guess that didn't include you."

Fury arched an eyebrow. "And it includes you?"

"I'm an active undercover operative for SHIELD. Technically, you hold the same status, but you _did_ remove yourself from all the file systems, including the audio files for voice recognition. Emergency protocol 887," she announced, as the computer responded by blinking green on the dashboard.

Steve leaned in, forehead creasing in confusion. "Wait, wait, wait - did you just say 'Coulson'?!"

"Stand back," Fury warned, motioning for Angela and Sam to move out of the way as a laser emerged from within the floor and seared a neat circle in the floor of the van. The line of destruction, however, continued until it had created a hole in the asphalt beneath them. Finally, the entire roadway gave way and fell until they heard the echo of it hitting the ground deep beneath the streets.

Maria went first, attaching a cord and lowering herself rapidly through the hole.

"After you?" Steve offered, motioning to Sam.

The Falcon had crossed his arms over his chest. "No way, man. You show me your ninja moves first and I'll go afterward."

So Steve went down next.

"I am _not_ going down that hole! What do you think I am, some sort of criminal? If what we're doing right now isn't against the law, I don't know what is," Angela snapped at Fury as he tried to shove her down the hole.

"Mom," Sam groaned, wearily. Trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened today was just—well, a little much. "Get in there, please! We'll explain later."

"Do you know what you're asking me to do?" Angela demanded, lips tightly pressed together.

"Yes, Mom."

Angela looked back and forth between Sam's exhausted expression and Fury's adamant one. "This ain't something you'll ever see me do again," she finally conceded, shaking her head with a sigh.

Fury handed her the cord, climbing down the hole just ahead of her so he could make sure she didn't fall.

Sam was the last person to go down, having wanted to make sure everyone else made it first. At last, after what seemed like ages, they had all reached the concrete ledge beside the sewer river.

"Move, everyone," Fury ordered the second Sam's boots hit the ground. "We need to get out of here before Agent Hill's little friends find us."

"Don't order me around, Nicholas," Angela griped, as they all turned and began walking toward the left.

"And where do you all think you're headed?" a familiar, collected voice sounded just behind them.

The five members of the group jumped and spun around.

Steve faced Maria, shocked. "You brought _Vision_ into this?!"

"You know," Vision stepped a bit closer, so that the light from overhead shone directly on his red-and-gold colored face. "Dishonesty is not a trait I tend to admire in people, whether they be allies or simply professional acquaintances," he directed the words at Maria. "I am very curious as to why you are all here, and why exactly there was a man who said he was working for the government trying to throw explosives at you."

"If we tell you everything," Steve folded his arms across his chest, "do you promise not to turn us in to Ross?"

"Which Ross?" Vision's mouth quirked up in a little, almost humored, smile. "There are two."

…

"What in God's name did you call _me_ in here for?" Everett Ross exclaimed, gaping at the unusual group of people gathered in front of him. "I am so getting _fired_ for this. And right after I got that promotion to managing Baron Von Zemo's imprisonment…"

"Well, I'm sorry if it's _inconvenient_ for you, but we couldn't exactly go to any other government agents, now, could we?" Sam bit out, crossing his arms.

Angela colored deeply before the pristinely-groomed CIA manager. "I am _so_ sorry," she apologized for Sam, "he's had a bad day."

" _I've_ had a bad day?!" Sam was nearing livid. "You almost got assassinated, Mom! By the same man who put me and Cap in jail, and is supposed to be responsible for protecting the whole world!"

"She did _not_ almost get assassinated; that's what Agent Hill called in the Vision and Spiderman for," Fury retorted loudly, as Angela's color changed yet again to pale.

"In the meantime, if you could offer us some assistance—?" Vision requested, clearing his throat.

"Assistance?" Everett exclaimed. "I've given all of you _way_ too much assistance as it is. I'm going to have to arrest you—all of you. Even you," he pointed at Vision. "This guy says you helped them avoid an assassination. That—that—as noble as that is, that counts as aiding and abetting known terrorists. Do you have any idea what the repercussions are for that kind of—" he reached for his phone, only to find that Maria had already swiped it from him.

"Unfortunately, we can't allow that kind of publicity," the agent shrugged apologetically, pocketing it.

"Wait—" Everett froze, realization suddenly dawning on him that he was _alone_ , in a room of Avengers, so-called 'terrorists' and the two most renowned spies in the history of SHIELD. He slowly put his hands up, stepping backwards.

"We won't threaten you further," Steve informed him coolly. "Just so long as you're aware; you're no longer willingly offering assistance to terrorists. You're being forced to sit in that chair and listen to us, at the risk of your life being expended if you don't comply."

"Okay," Everett put his hands up even further, nodding to himself as he took a seat, "okay. Alright, I'm listening. Fire away. You might need to give me a complementary bruise by the end of all this just to make it convincing, but, you think you could save the crushing head blow until after we're done here?"

"Look," Steve explained, "we need backing and representation from the CIA."

"Not gonna happen," Everett stated immediately. "Not just from me," he met the eyes of every single person in the room. "The whole CIA. Nobody would represent you. The scandal, the liability—do you _know_ how many meetings we have had entitled something along the lines of, 'How NOT to Collapse Internally Within 24 Hours Like SHIELD Did'? Our entire organization could go down if this one action goes public. We _can't_ do that," he repeated, his expression adamant.

"Oh?" Fury finally thrust himself into the conversation. "I was under the impression keeping things from going public was part of the CIA's basic job description."

"I was also under the impression you were in the business of exposing corrupt government leaders and removing them from office," Vision added smoothly. "It has come to my attention that Secretary Ross is actually one of the most significant of all of the members of this category. Not only did he imprison Mr. Wilson, here, and his companions, in a highly unconventional manner, he did so without trial, and in light of Mr. Stark's recent disappearance, I would not be completely surprised if he was not behind that as well. Not to mention the attempt on Mrs. Wilson's life after she had done no more than raise her voice in peaceful opposition."

Everett was quiet for a moment, holding his chin, deep in thought. Finally, he raised his blue eyes to meet each of theirs. "Let me get this straight," he said carefully. "All that you want is for Secretary Ross to be exposed for his crimes and held accountable for them before the public?"

"Getting some of us a legal pardon wouldn't be such a bad addition," Sam interjected.

"Yeah, we'll see about _that_ ," Everett smirked, getting to his feet. "But I've got good news, and that's that taking care of Ross—the _other_ Ross," he added with a slight eyeroll, "shouldn't be too much of a problem, seeing as he just shot the Hulk up into space without any prior written approval from any of the UN committee members."

Jaws dropped around the room. "Wait a minute," Steve was the first to choke out, "the Hulk's—in _space?_ "

Everett threw his hands up in the air. "None of my business; look, I'm technically not even supposed to know about it. You're the Avengers—I trust you, as much as I shouldn't—do with that information what you will, but it _never_ came from me, okay?"

"Deal," Sam sighed, exchanging a glance with Steve.

Maria was frowning. Even Fury looked worried, which was unusual for him.

Between them all, the unspoken question remained— _did this mean Bruce Banner was dead?_

…

Clint clamped one hand over Wanda's mouth as he stifled yet another of her screams.

He was having trouble keeping it together at this point. He could _feel_ her dying, hear her screaming even louder in his mind, and felt so helpless he struggled to carry her without being seen, off the ship and away from the harbor so he could find a hospital.

Could they successfully check in without being recognized as some of the world's most wanted criminals?

Probably not.

But at this point, Clint had to achingly admit they didn't have much to lose. If Wanda died because of him, just like her brother had…

" _Shhhh…"_

He pressed the order deep into her mind before letting her fall limp, rising quickly to his feet and knocking another dock worker unconscious. He peeked around the side of the ship's cargo door to see if any other workers were in sight—sure enough, there were at least four of them and a security officer.

He scooped up Wanda behind her neck and under her knees, pressing a hand against her mouth once more as she let out a loud whimper.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm so, so sorry…"

Gripping her tightly, he leaped into the ocean.


	16. Keep Them In Check

**A/N: Hey, how's it goin'? I'm at the *freaking out nearing the climax of the story* phase; ever felt it before? Lol. No, in all seriousness, this story is going great, thanks to each and every one of you who has reviewed, favorited, followed, sent me 15 PM's, etc. ^-^ and Zarannya for beta-ing!**

 **So, read on, fellow Avengers…things are about to go from bad to worse!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Got any ideas for Bucky's dramatic return? I'd love to have him sass off T'Challa at some point…lol. Thank you for your review! :D**

 **gandalf537: …I'm so sorry…so so sorry…! Super glad you're enjoying it, and thanks for reviewing!**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: Yeah, I know, right?! I have no idea what's going on here…everybody's gone nuts, hahaha. No really, it'll be fine in the end. Wanda's back in the next chapter ;D Thank you for your review!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: Just curious about your penname…is it a reference to something? It's so cool! :D This is an excellent point about Wanda…oh MAN I'd really love to stick that extra dose of feels in there where Wanda got totally confused about what was real and what wasn't and started using her powers...unfortunately I couldn't fit much in here right away because the story has so many plot elements to move forward. Great idea though, and almost unrealistic that she doesn't have much of that going on. Hmm. I'll work on that. Thank you so much for reviewing! :D**

 **AndreKI: Don't worry, we'll get back to her in the next chapter ;D But you're right, it's so sad! I hate making bad things happen to Wanda…Thanks for your review!**

 **Amber The Awesome Fangirl: RIGHT?! I'm so sorry. You can find out what happens to Wanda in the next chapter, tho ;D Thank you so so much for reviewing!**

 **Queb: Thank you so much! I just love 2** **nd** **Ross, hahaha. And no Avengers story would be complete without a Coulson Lives arc, since they can't seem to manage so much in MCU! So glad you are enjoying the story. I really appreciate you as a reader :D**

 **Mellia Bee: So glad you liked chapter 6! Haha, still one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy this update! Which is your favorite character(s)? Thank you so much for your reviews :D**

 **Tanba Josav: Yaaaassss, me too! I'm so glad you enjoyed this version! Hopefully you enjoy this chapter as well :D Thanks for the review!**

 **Time of the Flame Heart: Yeah, I specialize in that *smirks awkwardly* hehe. I'm super glad you're enjoying the story! Wanda comes back in the next chapter ;D Thanks for the reviews!**

 **Bree Colbern: I knoooooww! I feel so bad about hurting poor baby Wanda! We'll get back to her in the next chapter, though. Hahaha, your reactions are the best, I love them. ;D And you're right, Clint will about die if anything happens to his little girl…*sniffles loudly*. YES, you caught that moment with Angela! I was going for Sam's 'Mom, you're so embarrassing…I'm literally thirty-five…' moment. Thanks for reviewing girl, you made my day! :D**

…

Keep Them In Check

Natasha blinked awake as she became aware of the van's progress slowing, and she shifted to stretch in her seat as Laura pulled off onto the side of the freeway. After days of traveling, only three more hours remained until they reached their final destination.

She started to open the door when a voice stopped her.

"No, it's okay. I'll drive."

Laura raised an eyebrow, impressed, as Tony (no longer child-locked in, since he'd been behaving himself pretty well) hopped out and opened her door for her as she climbed in the back, and settled himself in the driver's seat.

Natasha was more surprised that Tony hadn't insisted on driving a long _, long_ time ago. Only she knew about that particular part of Tony's past—refusing to be driven around had always been one of his little quirks that even Laura hadn't known about.

Clint, while fully capable, didn't make a habit of unearthing people's deep dark secrets on his laptop at three in the morning. Natasha had _lived_ with the billionaire, for about a month and a half too long.

So Tony drove them to the safe house while Laura slept in the back and Natasha slept with one eye open, just in case. And to give him directions, because unlike some may have believed, even the great Tony Stark missed his exits on occasion.

She couldn't shake the feeling, however, that something felt off. Usually when her senses were pushing at her like this, it was an indicator that something was wrong, _very_ wrong.

"Alright." She finally had had enough, sitting up straighter in her seat and facing the current driver. "What's going on?"

"We're driving down an incredibly boring Canadian highway in the dead of night. What, was there a moose in the river?"

Ignoring the fact that he sounded entirely too awake for this time of night, she settled her feet on the dashboard, fixing him with a sour gaze. "Something's happened between now and yesterday, and I want to know what it is," she demanded, ice in her tone.

"Well, too bad, because nothing happened," Tony's voice was an attempt to be final.

Natasha wasn't in the mood. "Tell me. _Now_."

"It's nothing!" Tony insisted, a little too loudly.

"Did someone contact you?" she pursed her lips suspiciously.

"They _don't_ know where we are," the billionaire answered right away, cringing as he continued to steer the vehicle down the darkened highway.

"Are you sure?"

"Everything's fine. I promise."

"Yeah, well, I'd believe you right away, but the last time you said that it was after Ultron had already taken over our computer systems, and you seemed to think that because you hadn't actively done anything wrong, nothing bad was going to happen."

Tony winced. "Well, I hadn't," he defended.

"I'm not attacking you, Tony; if we're discovered, you're in almost as much trouble as we are. You know your tech," Natasha acquiesced. "If you say there's no way anyone could have tracked us, then I can believe you. But I want to know who it was."

"I can't believe I'm telling you this," Tony griped. "Who do you think it was? It was our old buddy the Secretary to the great and glorified U.N."

She'd expected as much, but that didn't make this much of a happy-clappy situation. "What did he say?"

"You're not gonna like this…" Tony squirmed in his seat.

" _Tony_ …"

"He found the Hulk, okay?"

Natasha gaped. She had expected just about anything but a mention of the Hulk. _"When?"_ she demanded.

"Ross figured out a way to contact me when all my tech's shut off and we're in the middle of Timbuktu -I'm sure he wanted to make sure I had _all_ the details," he said bitterly.

"This is important," Natasha reminded him, frowning. "Bruce and Ross have history."

"Rossand _I_ have history, _too_."

Natasha stared. "Are you saying…you actually contacted him _back_?"

Tony's nervous silence was all the answer she needed. In fact, a sheen of sweat was now covering his face, neck, and back.

There was a heck of a lot more to this.

"Stop the car," she ordered.

"Somehow I get the feeling that if I stop the car I'll be wishing I hadn't—"

Natasha lunged over to grab the wheel.

"Okay, okay, _okay!_ I'll stop! Are you crazy?!" Tony veered off to the side, effectively rocking the van so well inhabitants of the backseat were roughly jerked awake.

"Get out, now."

"Promise you won't kill me?"

"I won't kill you, Tony, now open the door!" she nearly shouted at him.

Tony nearly flew outside, shutting the door behind him. Laura's face appeared in the window a moment later, but both he and Natasha ignored it as they faced off just to the left of the glowing headlights.

"How does he _not_ know where we are?" Natasha glowered at Tony.

"He doesn't! I swear, he doesn't know," he spat in return, losing the sense of fear for a moment for anger.

"You know what's at stake here," she whispered menacingly, taking a large step closer.

Tony didn't say a word, but his hands were shaking as he shoved them deep into his pockets.

"Stay in the car," Laura barked to one or three of the kids as she exited the back seat, climbing out to lean against the door, frowning at the two of them. "We are two and a half hours away from the end of our journey. Do either of the two of you mind telling me what's going on?"

"Ross. Doesn't. Know. Where. We. Are," Tony bit out each and every word, not taking his eyes off of Natasha. "Even if he did, he wouldn't care. All he cares about is the Hulk, and getting a hold of any other Avengers that are fugitives."

"Wait," Laura's voice broke in softly, glancing toward Nat and back to Tony, "you know where the Hulk is?"

"Nope," Tony clammed up immediately.

Natasha rammed a knee up into his gut before he could see it coming, twisted his arm around, and pinned him face-first on the ground, grimacing in pain. " _What_ did Ross tell you?"

" _Romanoff_ ," Tony wheezed, more embarrassed than anything, "if you could let me breathe for two seconds, I could tell you."

After an extra, miniscule yank on his forearm that made Tony hiss in spite of himself (and Laura give Natasha a disapproving frown), she relented and allowed the billionaire to haul himself to his feet.

"I always told Rogers he has a habit of leaving me to be the one to make the hard decisions," Tony began, collecting himself visibly. "Well, now it's not just him, it's everybody."

"You're joking," she whispered.

"And yeah, Ross told me he found the Hulk. He needed to know what would kill him." A hardened, yet deeply guilty frown settled into Tony's features. "Best for everybody. Keep him in check. All of us in check, as a matter of fact."

"The Hulk, or _Bruce_?!"

Tony pointed an accusing finger at her. "You weren't the one who got accosted in an elevator by the mother of a boy who died while I tried to subdue him in Nigeria. One of _hundreds_ , Romanoff! How can you say this has anything to do with Banner? He'd be the first to agree this had nothing to do with him; it has everything to do with doing what we set out to do as Avengers! Keeping people _safe_ , not letting them die just because the next wacko came around and decided to destroy whatever was in its way!"

"Oh, Tony…" Laura's hand went over her mouth and she turned away for a moment, unable to believe what she heard.

"I told him to make sure Bruce was—"

"Don't say what you did right now or I _will_ kill you," Natasha's voice was hard as steel, but the rest of her shook with rage. "Get in the back. You can tell us the rest of the story when we get where we're going and the kids are _safe_."

The unspoken threat, was, of course, _'when they can't see what I'm going to do to you'._

Tony looked for a moment like he would lash out in response, but eventually, he turned around and did as she asked.

Laura was crying. For a moment, Tony gave her a longing look, like he was sorry he'd disappointed her, but she couldn't see it in the dark.

The rest of the drive was passed in silence.

…

… **drops mic…**

 **Stay tuned for next time! Thanks for reading, y'all**


	17. The Other Barton

**A/N: I'm so excited about this chapter!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Aww, don't be mean to Natasha! She just likes to defend Bruce because he won't do it himself…:D anyway. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Karli1252: I know right? I hate having to do that…agh. Things will get better! (but they might get worse first, just warning you)! Thank you so much for your review!**

 **StrangeInterests32: OMG you summed that up so well…:/ poor Tony. I love him, I really do. But unfortunately, he still doesn't get the whole 'ask people before you make rash so-called genius decisions so they can help you get your plans more human-compatible' thing. He still thinks he knows better than everyone else. Hopefully he'll figure out what he's doing wrong soon…**

 **Mellia Bee: Aw, yay! Yes, Avengers don't do the most fantastic job of communicating, do they? /: like, ever…I'm glad you like the Natasha/Laura friendship! There is lots more of that coming! :D Thanks so much for your review. It really means a lot to me!**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: Tony's a *little* too smart for his own good, eh? Heh. Thanks for reviewing! I hope you like this chapter! :D**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: That is awesome! Makes me want to read that series. :D hehehe Brutasha is totally canon in this now…but what I'm trying to figure out now is, if Hulk was shot up into space, how exactly does one bring him back and/or how does he end up on Asgard for Rangarok? Thanks for your review; they are always awesome. :D Enjoy the chapter!**

 **gandalf537: Yep :D Beware the coming craziness! Thanks so much for reviewing!**

…

The Other Barton

"Hey, hey, hey, you still with me?" Clint panted, cradling Wanda's head as he dragged them both out of the icy-cold bay. At least it wasn't wintertime, but still—it was nighttime in Canada. "Wanda? Say something, please—"

Wanda moaned as her eyelids drifted apart, just slightly, and she reached up toward him, her fingers smoking with a scarlet haze.

"No, no, no, don't do that," Clint grabbed her hand as gently as he could and tucked it over her chest. The mist faded and he pressed his forehead to hers to listen—it could be that she was calling out to him, and couldn't find him.

" _Daddy? Where are you?"_

" _I'm right here, Sweetheart,"_ Clint swallowed a huge lump of panic when he heard how weak she sounded, even in his head. _"You're not gonna die, I promise."_

Only a few small lights glowed from nearby businesses and from the docking station, barely making anything visible. Unfortunately, there were no abandoned vehicles lying conveniently nearby, either.

Dammit, where was a hospital in this town?!

Wanda's hand slipped out of his, and something inside him snapped.

"Dammit, Stark, it's all your fault!" Clint's chest heaved with emotion. Suddenly, he didn't care if anyone found them. Whether it was a dock worker, or a random passerby—having help from anyone would be better than sitting here waiting for Wanda to die. Even if they turned them in to Ross. _Anyone._

And it hadn't been Stark's fault. Not this time, anyway. "No, it wasn't, it was _my_ fault," Clint hissed, anger now directed toward himself instead, "for getting back involved with that damn circus—damnit, Clint, why can't you do anything right?!"

There was nowhere to go. They'd gotten this far, and now Wanda wouldn't make it longer than a few minutes. Who was he kidding? There was no time to find a car, get to a hospital, wait for them to run tests, find an antidote…his baby girl was going to die, right here on the edge of the street, and there was going to be nothing he could do about it.

Then sirens blared behind him.

And they weren't ambulance sirens—they were the same ones he'd been fearing ever since they started on this little crusade.

Someone must have seen them leaving the ship, despite all his precautions.

Clint swallowed and grit his teeth together, wiping the few stray tears from his face as he slowly got to his feet.

If there was one place he wasn't going to allow Wanda to die, it was alone and in prison.

Canadian police surrounded the two of them, shouting something about the 'terrorist fugitives.'

They looked nervous.

Well, they had a reason to be.

"Sir, drop your backpack and get in the squad car, immediately."

Clint closed his eyes briefly. Half of him wanted to punch this guy's lights out. The other half knew he was just doing his job.

" _Now_ , Sir."

Slowly, Clint shifted to one side and slipped the strap of his back off his shoulders and lowered it to the ground, slumping a little in defeat. He bent down to pick up Wanda, but one of the officers stopped him.

"Leave the woman on the ground. We'll take care of her."

"She goes with me," Clint bit out, tightening his grip around her shoulders and knees before he stood, heart hammering in his chest. His normally sharp outlook of a situation had become blurry.

"Sir, for the last time, lower the woman back to where you found her and enter the squad car alone."

"Yeah, not gonna happen," he gave them a bitter smile. "She's my daughter. She's dying. She goes with me."

A faint tinkling sound of metal hitting the ground echoed just behind the circle of officers.

One of them turned around to face it, and found himself instantly knocked to the ground, nose bleeding as the wild-looking figure of a man pummeled through the entire ring, razor-sharp claws making short work of any weapons they carried until he landed on the back of the squad car.

The officer inside panicked and slammed his foot on the gas pedal, taking off with the creature splayed across the rear windshield, claws digging deep into the metal.

Clint's shock recovered quickly. He dropped Wanda again and pulled out his sword in one swift movement, pointing it in the direction of anyone, civilian or officer, who came within a few meters of them.

The archer watched, dumbfounded, as the creature on the back of the squad car crept forward, claws making huge indentations in the roof of the squad car with every move, finally twisting his body around and swinging in through the window, feet-first, landing directly on top of the officer driving. He took control of the vehicle and swung it around in a wide arc, narrowly missing a large crate, gunning it forward and squealing the tires to a raw stop just in front of where Clint stood over Wanda's limp form, dumbfounded.

The creature extended a single, shining claw in the direction of the officer he was trying not to sit on. He raised one eyebrow, the tiny gesture menacing enough that the officer nodded and climbed out, stumbling away unharmed.

The wild-looking man with the claws met eyes met Clint's from afar. "Get in," he ordered.

"Who're you?" Clint ground out suspiciously, reaching for his sword.

"Call me Wolverine," the man grunted, suddenly looking less and less like a wild monster from hell. "Xavier sent me. Ring any bells?"

Clint swallowed, resisting the urge to glance back toward Wanda. He suddenly noticed just how much of her pain she was projecting into his own mind—her usual control having released its grip entirely. It was all he could do to clear his thoughts and focus on the guy in front of him.

Wolverine rolled his eyes at the delay, leaping from the car with a small canister in one hand and barreling straight for the two of them.

Clint swung his sword instinctively, catching him by surprise. The burly man's claws barely stopped the blade from cutting him in two before he and the archer exchanged several more blows, adamantium on steel making sparks fly into the air before the claws caught Clint's blade in just the right spot, and a forceful slice slashed the metal in two.

Clint was staring past the remaining, jagged half of his sword when Wolverine surprised him with a high kick to the jaw, sending the archer sprawling up against the squad car. Before he knew it, he'd lost his sword's handle, too. On a more significant note, he had three claws embedded in the metal beside his head, with the other three aimed directly at his throat.

"You don't have to trust me later," the man's breath was hot in his face. "Just for right now."

"How do I know you're not working for Ross?"

"Do I _look_ like one of Ross' men?" Wolverine snorted, extracting his claws from the fender of the vehicle.

As Clint watched, the claws extending from the knuckles on both of the man's hands slid painfully slow, back _beneath the skin_ of two completely normal-looking fists.

The self-proclaimed wolverine spit at the ground and chewed at his lower lip.

"Besides, I can help your kid."

Clint stared, long and hard, for about three seconds. If he knew anything that could save Wanda, nothing else mattered at present. "You better not be messing with me," he ground out, in a warning tone.

Clint stared for exactly one and a half more seconds before rushing to Wanda, grabbing her as quickly as he could and depositing her trembling, unconscious form in the back seat of the squad car, right beside him.

Wolverine came around to shut the door, and handed him a tiny canister with a sharp, needle-like end on it. "Stab it in her side. It'll stop the spread of the poison 'till we can get better help."

He slammed them inside, climbed into the driver's seat, and gunned the engine once again.

Clint stared down at the canister in his hand, hesitating for only a moment.

He inserted it just under Wanda's ribs, through her still-soaked jacket and shirt. The waves of pain he could feel coming toward his head didn't let up, but at least they got no worse.

At least for now.

He tucked his arms around her, holding her to his chest, and waited.

…

Everett Ross blew out a long breath once he'd exited the conference room in which he'd met the Avenger fugitives. "Insolent pricks," he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand across his face. "They have no idea what they're asking…"

A second later, he spied a familiar-looking gentleman just a few meters away, down the hallway to his right. Everett's insides froze as the man headed straight for him.

He had prepared all his life for moments like these, but this was just too weird.

"Secretary Ross, sir!" he said, a little louder than might've been necessary. He just hoped the people in the room behind him could hear his announcement. "Pleasure to see you here." He extended a hand forward in greeting, but the older man frowned darkly and ignored it.

"Where are the Avengers?" the Secretary demanded, his tone icy as his cold blue eyes stared Everett down from under bushy white eyebrows.

" _Who let him up here?"_ his mind spun internally. Outwardly, however, Everett feigned confusion. "The—new? Avengers? Or the fugitive—terrorists you were speaking of earlie—"

"Barton," Ross barked, and a burly man with muscles the size of boulders stepped out from the hallway as well. Everett's eyes widened. He recognized Barton as a CIA member, but certainly not one of a high enough rank to accompany a U.N. secretary to their most secure meeting areas.

"Wait, hang on," he stood up a little straighter, glaring at the secretary. "Are you sure you have proper clearance to be in here? I mean, I know it's a pain in the ass, but the director _does_ take unauthorized entry very seriously—"

Agent Barton grabbed Everett by the collar and slammed him against the drywall with enough force that stars began spinning in front of his eyelids.

"Are we _really_ gonna do this?" Everett growled to Ross, trying to free himself from the huge, red-haired man's grip. "If you thought you got away with how you've treated our organization in the past, you're already wrong. What's the federal court going to say about this?"

"I've had a long day, Agent," Ross's nostrils flared, as he stood, impassively, over the agent as he struggled for breath. Barton continued to hold him down, unwavering. "The Hulk got loose and nearly destroyed half the state of Connecticut earlier this week. My press have been busy clearing it up and making sure nobody ever has anything to fear from that savage beast ever again."

"Yeah, I heard," Everett frowned, shoving Barton aside and wheezing for a breath. When the bigger man went in for a second assault, he calmly kicked him in the groin and twisted his arm around, perhaps not breaking Barton's wrist but at least giving it a good strain.

It turned out to be a bad plan. Before he could see what was coming, Everett found himself lying flat on the ground, pinned between Barton's fists and the unyielding wall behind him, taking blow after blow of well-aimed punches.

"Stop!" Ross' commanding voice finally rang out. "Barton! Stand down! You moron…" he muttered under his breath, annoyed at his agent's lack of control.

Everett blinked, reaching up to feel his nose and realizing it was already broken. Pain radiated through his skull and up into his eye sockets. So much for his nonexistent good looks.

Barton paused, but glared down at him.

The man was like an animal—primal, he dared say. He really had attacked without thinking twice about it—a kill-or-be-killed type, apparently.

Barton spat on the CIA agent's face, then rose to his feet and followed Ross out of the room in a hurry, muscled body tightly containing his desire to pound on the man behind him further.

Everett huffed a sigh of relief once the two were gone. Disgusted, he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his face off. He really was used to more sophisticated enemies.

Stifling a groan, he got to his feet, pulled open the door to where the Avengers were hiding and slid inside, shutting it behind him.

Angela Wilson gasped. "My land, boy!"

"Right," Everett frowned, putting his hands up for the moment to stave off any questions. "You all are going to have to lay low for a while."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "We were all doing that a second before you came in."

"Right." Everett took a second to collect his thoughts. Which was rather difficult, when his nose was still bleeding down his face and all over his shirt. "Okay. Here's the plan: I'm going to go barge into my supervisor's office and probably get myself fired trying to set up a case file against the Secretary; in the meantime, you all should probably—well, you could stay here and try not to do anything illegal, other than being here, which is _technically_ illegal; or, you can do what's better and leave the way you came in, if you can do that without getting caught."

"Or we could just kidnap Ross, hide him under a bridge somewhere, and be done with the whole thing," Fury muttered under his breath. Angela glared at him, and he shrugged in response. "What? It's not like the number of people trying to kill me could get any _higher_."

"You're _really_ glad to be off the hook for director's responsibilities, aren't you?" Maria snorted, staring across the room at Fury and exchanging a glance of undecipherable meaning.

Everett sighed, adjusting the handkerchief he still had under his nose. "I'm going to go and get help. From _somewhere._ Where should I meet you all in case of emergency?"

"My place," Angela spoke up, an air of finality in her tone.

Fury gave her a look of utter exasperation. "We _cannot_ go to your house; it's being watched by every single monitor Ross can spare!"

"Not my current house, Nicholas," she ground out in frustration. "Our old farmhouse. It was safe back in the day—unless it's been compromised, too?"

"You don't mean—" Steve's head raised from where he was propping it up on the table.

"Yeah," Fury lifted his own to meet his eyes, nodding reluctantly. "Clint's farm. That's the one."

…

Apparently men who had bushy hair sticking up in every direction and rabid claws that lay just beneath their flesh could also pilot invisible, custom-designed private jets.

"She's not doing any better," Clint muttered, half to himself and half to Wolverine, stroking Wanda's sweaty forehead as gently as he could when his hands weren't all that steady. "Was that stuff supposed to make her better?"

"Naw, it's temporary," Wolverine explained, flipping another switch on the control panel as he guided them further upwards into the clouds. Clint knew enough about planes to tell that he was moving them along about as fast as possible, which put his mind at least a little bit at ease. "She won't get any worse until we can get her to the mansion."

"Where?"

"New York."

"We can't go to New York," Clint scoffed, trying not to betray the nervousness in his tone.

"Nobody'll ever find her where we're going," Wolverine pushed his earphones back across his neck, clearly not fond of wearing them. He turned around slightly in his seat, observing how Clint held her possessively, guarding her. "You'd kill anyone who touched her, wouldn't you?" he smirked.

"Huh?"

"Kids," Wolverine snorted. "I've got one myself. Rogue. She's not mine, she just thinks she is. Follows me around everywhere I go, like a daggone puppy." he grinned slightly.

Clint's expression didn't change. He didn't care that the guy was trying to distract him.

Wanda was still dying in his arms, and he could feel the heat of her skin against his, how shallow and ragged each breath was becoming. Just because she didn't have the strength to scream any more didn't mean she wasn't still in pain.

"Where exactly is this mansion in New York?" he managed, shifting her weight in his arms just slightly. Both limbs had gone numb from holding her so long, but he didn't care.

Wolverine thought a moment before answering. "Not many people know about this place," he admitted, flipping a few switches on the jet's controls. "Xavier built it for mutants, like me and her. They can go there to get away from hunters like Ross and Barton."

Even with all that was going on and muddling up Clint's brain, it would have been pretty sad if he couldn't recognize his own name. "Ross and _who?_ "

"Charles Barton. Ever heard of him? I hadn't, before he tried to kill me," Wolverine shrugged. "He's one of Ross' head mercenaries. Can't find him on any records. It's as if he's supposed to be—"

"Dead?" Clint answered flatly.

Wolverine seemed to catch on to the fact that something was wrong. "Yeah," he answered at last, turning his attention back to the controls.

It was a long moment before he spoke again.

"You can call me Logan if you want," he shrugged, scratching an arm absently. "It's my real name. Wolverine's just what I go by in public."

The archer frowned, considering. "I'm Clint," he ventured at last.

Logan's grin went sideways, and he smirked a little. "And people say I can't be civil," he commented, more to himself.

"Can't imagine why they'd say that," Clint snorted, before he realized what he was saying.

"Hey, I've heard stories about you," Logan flipped another switch, settling back with his hands behind his head. "The mansion's got a real danger room down in the basement. Whaddaya say, once your kid gets taken care of, we go a round or two—this time, evenly matched?"

"Yeah, Wolvy, we'll see about that," Clint rolled his eyes. Logan truly had no idea what a huge mess they were in.

As urgent as getting help for her was, Wanda was only a tiny part of the full equation.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something even worse was about to happen to them.


	18. Alive

**A/N: Goodness! Thank you all so much for waiting so patiently! It took me forever to get this ready, but finally: ta da! :D Please enjoy and, if you feel so inclined, leave a review to help me make this story fabulous!**

 **Mellia Bee: *squeals* I'm so happy you liked all those parts! My faves as well! Oh, you know there will be a showdown, hahaha. I literally have no idea where these circles are going either, but we'll see :D I love your reviews so much! Thank you immensely!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Yep, you know it :D And the climax/everyone meeting up will come soon; it just keeps stretching out into a lot more chapters than I expected. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Bree Colbern: Oh my dear, no worries at all! :D Your reviews were lovely though, thank you so much! Glad you liked Wolverine :D He's super awesome. And yeah, Barney gets on everyone's nerves, haha. I've been super stuck in college-application-mud, that's why it's been so long, lol. How have you been lately?**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: YES! Aren't they amazing? :D Hope you enjoy this chapter's X-Men even better. Thanks for the review!**

 **Karli1252: Wolverine is amazing, right? :D Thank you so much for reviewing! Hope you enjoy this chapter as well!**

 **Donlaeta: Thank you so much! I'm super glad you enjoyed it :D 'worse' is coming soon…not in this chapter, but shortly. I hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

 **Qweb: Me neither, hahaha. I mean, I kinda know what's going on, since I've already thought up the climax and ending, but they'll probably change when I get to them. It's all one wonderfulous whirlwind! *ahem* but anyway, thank you so much for your review! Hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: OMG, just realized I totally didn't reply to your PM…let me get on that, heh. Sorry. I'm SO glad Logan came across that way; I mean, love the sexy heartthrob, but how much awesomer is legit badass Wolverine? Good point that Barney must be pretty powerful to have survived going against Wolverine; now to figure out how to show that ;P YES, that farmhouse story is a first for me! I had a whole 'nother story for it and decided to change to make this story feel more internally connected, haha. Stay tuned for the first bit with Xavier. I was SO excited to finally write for him, but the good parts aren't here yet. Thank you, thank you, as always, so much!**

 **Gandalf537: You thought that earlier part with the mutants was for nothing? XD haha, just kidding. Gosh, that was a long time ago. I barely remember that chapter actually *winces* Yes, X-men are here! I hope you enjoy this next chapter as well. :D Thank you so much for your review; I really appreciate it!**

 **Mysterious Jedi: OMG, I'm so glad you like it! Thank you so much for your review. If you have any ideas for future chapters, please go ahead and let me know! I love hearing new thoughts and trying to incorporate them in! :D**

…

Alive

…

Wanda's eyes felt like lead. Groaning, she struggled to blink herself awake, pleased to find that she wasn't in horrible pain anymore. A pleasant numbness had settled over her body, though she wasn't sure if that was good or bad. The lack of nausea and pulsating headache had to be a good sign, however.

She tested her arms by stretching them up over her head as high as she could manage before blinking herself the rest of the way awake. Frowning, she focused on the unusual sight before her.

"Awake already?" a very familiar accent spoke. A young man with white hair and a dark beard grinned at her openly from the side of the bed.

"P—Pietro?"

The young man's features distorted, as though he thought she were crazy. He smirked at her, cocking one eyebrow. "Who the hell is Pietro?" he responded with a chuckle.

Then Wanda realized it wasn't a dream—this was actually real.

She screamed.

…

Clint heard her screaming and burst into her room just as the figure disappeared in a flash of grey and blue. "Wanda? What is it? Are you okay? Are you hurt? My God," he suddenly realized, rushing toward her and catching her up in a smothering embrace, "You're awake!"

Wanda didn't realize she was crying until a moment later, dropping puddles of wet tears onto Clint's shoulder as she sobbed in relief.

She was okay. He'd kept his promise—she was still alright like he'd said she'd be.

"I'm sorry," Wanda cried, sniffling as she kept her stiff arms wrapped around Clint's neck and refusing to let go. "I'm so sorry I let this happen."

"Are you out of your mind? It was my fault!"

The door to the room shut with a click; whoever had been following Clint into the room had decided to leave them to themselves for a moment.

"I almost lost you again," Clint whispered hoarsely. "Oh, Wanda, why did you have to go lashing out at the circus director for? I told you not to! But it was my fault we were even over there in the first place, and—oh, sweetheart, I'm just so sorry…"

Wanda's lips trembled as she finally collapsed against her pillows enough to get a good look at his face. Clint was as pale and haggard as she'd ever seen him, far more so than when they'd been in prison for several days. He looked as if he hadn't slept the entire time she'd been unconscious—and frankly, she had no idea just how long that had been.

She couldn't exactly comfort him more, though. Her body sagged against the bed, unable to keep her upright any longer. Suddenly, she felt tired—so tired she could barely keep her eyes open.

Clint reached up and settled her in, pressing a kiss to her temple and her forehead. "Hey. I'll be here when you wake up again, all right? You need anything?"

"Mm-mm," Wanda shook her head, sighing as she looked up at him again. She must've been wrong—it wasn't Pietro who was looking out for her any more. It was Clint. She must have imagined him just before waking up. Ignoring the way the memory of his face tugged at her, she gave Clint a tiny smile. "I'm okay. I just need to sleep."

"You sure?"

"Dad?" She grinned at him a little, sleepily and mischievously at the same time. "You _sure_ you don't mind me calling you that?"

"Hey, what is this playing on my feelings? Quit messing around and go to sleep," Clint scolded her with a grin, squeezing her shoulder before he left.

Wanda was asleep almost before his hand left the doorknob, but a tiny puff of wind just to her left forced her to crank open her eyelids again.

Almost immediately her mouth fell open again.

The young man was back.

"What an ugly old man," he scoffed, leaning against her bedpost with a casual air. "Aren't you a little young to be travelling with someone his age?"

Wanda screamed again.

Clint bolted inside, starting back when he saw who was seated casually on Wanda's bedpost, looking very confused. "Holy sh—" his legs crumpled almost immediately and he sat, sprawled against the doorway, gazing up at Pietro in shock. His breaths started coming faster. "What the—!"

Pietro, that little _brat_ , started _laughing_. "What else did you expect when you come to a mansion for _mutants_? Is the old man going to have a heart attack?"

"The heck is he talking about?!" Clint hissed at Wanda, not taking his eyes off what he was certain was some kind of hologram.

"I have no idea," Wanda hissed back. "Pietro, how—why—" her voice stopped, mouth closing as she tried to decide whether to speak or cry.

Pietro cocked a bewildered eyebrow before shooting from one end of the room to the next. He took in their faces again. "That—" he started, pointing a thumb, "that wasn't what's got you upset?"

Just then there was a thumping at the door, and Clint, slowly and still half-dazed, moved out of the way to allow Professor Xavier and Logan to enter.

Xavier looked apologetic. "It seems I owe you all a somewhat overdue explanation," he began, surveying the scene before him with his dark, aged eyes.

"Peter," Logan snarled, "Get your ass outta the lady's bedroom before I send you to the basement."

Pietro, looking annoyed at being treated like a kid but still having a healthy amount of respect for the Wolverine, rolled his eyes and sped from the room, pausing just long enough to flip Logan off.

"As if that time with Kitty Pryde wasn't bad enough," Logan muttered, glaring after him. "You'd think he was twelve."

"I'm so sorry about that," the professor wheeled himself further into the room, attempting to offer Wanda a comforting smile.

Logan offered Clint a hand to his feet, which seemed to ground him a little for the present. "We were talkin' about _my_ brother being alive," the archer muttered, half to himself, and half to the rest of the room. "But that don't hold a candle to this. You're saying that this kid—who _died_ —right in front of me," he got the words out with difficulty, "he's— _him?_ He's not dead?"

Wanda's eyes were wide, staring off into space. "He's not in my head," she murmured, grief sliding its way like icy tendrils into her voice. "I've always felt him. But he hasn't been in there—not since—" she lifted her eyes, pleadingly, to the professor, unable to finish.

Professor Xavier took a long moment to think of what best to say to them, first. Finally, he opened his mouth. "Before I offer any explanation," he began, " _Yes_ , that is Pietro. He is very much alive, as you saw, and should for all intents and purposes stay that way. However, there is one drawback," he hesitated for a moment, meeting Clint's gaze and then fixing on Wanda's. "He doesn't remember you."

… … … … …

"Welcome, Colonel Rhodes," Ross extended his hand to shake that of Tony's closest friend. "I'm sorry we weren't able to meet in person sooner. I trust we have some valuable information for you, and that you can also help us find Mr. Stark more quickly."

"Mr. Secretary." Rhodey looked like he was on the final ounce of his patience. He was well-dressed, and expertly wheeled himself around to one end of the conference table. The lines on his face showed telltale signs of complete exhaustion. "I don't mean to be rude or forward with you; I know you've been working on this behind the scenes, but I've been frantically trying to find information and contact you for almost a week, and at this point, I really want to know just how much _have_ you done in that time to find Tony?"

Ross stared for a moment before nodding and rising from his chair. "Mr. Rhodes," he announced, going to the door again, "There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Mr. Charles Barton, one of our most highly-trained operatives, working jointly with the C.I.A. and U.N. for almost twelve years."

"Isn't that a little counter-intuitive?" Rhodey raised an eyebrow, examining the newcomer. "To work for the United Nations—and _spy_ on other nations—at the same time?"

Barton met his eyes and gave him a nod, but didn't offer a handshake. There was something about him—something in his eyes—that made Rhodey instantly wish he wasn't in the same room as him.

"Mr. Barton is the elder brother of Clint Barton, in case you were wondering," Ross explained, waving for Agent Barton to sit, which he did, fixing Rhodey with a surly stare from across the table.

So that was why. Even though Rhodey hadn't known Clint that well, the posture, the angles of his face, and most of all the _eyes_ —all looked like they belonged to the archer he had fought both beside and against.

"At least," Ross continued, wiping his forehead with a white handkerchief, as he glanced nervously over at Barton, "of all the threats we're dealing with, we can be relieved that Hawkeye at least only carries a Paleolithic-era weapon, but the others—"

Barney gave him a withering stare, his clenched fist visibly hardening on the glass surface of the conference table.

Ross whitened, and Rhodey sat on edge just a bit more. "Uh, what just happened?" he raised his eyebrows, determined NOT to be left out of any private exchanges between the two. Not now, that he'd finally been admitted to speak with Ross.

Barton didn't meet his stare, but continued to lock eyes with the Secretary. "He knows better than to diss my brother like that," he said lowly, lower lip turned up at the corner in a smirk.

"Or what?" Rhodey pressed further. "You attack the U.S. Secretary for the United Nations in his own building?"

Barton's eyes flitted dangerously over to his. "You keep talking, just see who gets attacked."

Rhodey blinked once, then turned coolly to Ross. "I don't feel comfortable with this man being involved in helping locate Mr. Stark," he used his calmest, most professional voice.

To his chagrin, Ross only gulped and tugged subconsciously at his collar. "Agent Barton stays," was all he said. His voice betrayed no fear, but the rest of him shouted clearly otherwise.

"Alright then," Rhodey huffed a breath through his nose, folding his hands over his armrests. "Let's do this. I'll tell you what I know, you tell me what you know, and—" he pointed to Barton, "you better have something to contribute to this effort besides threats."

"How bad you want to find Stark?" Barton's lip curled.

"I don't know," the Colonel narrowed his eyes at the larger man. He was struggling to determine if Barton was currently the one actually in control of this meeting or if he should wait for Ross to continue before saying anything. "I still haven't ruled out the possibility that _maybe_ he doesn't want to be found."

"Why do you think that?"

"Why should I tell _you_?"

"I have reason to believe Stark was at my brother's family farm upstate," Barton explained smoothly. "It's empty now, but it wasn't around the time Stark disappeared. I was just out there tracking 'em when I got called in on a lead," he narrowed his eyes in Ross' direction, but the Secretary refused to take the bait.

Rhodey was surprised they actually had information that good. "You think Clint's holding him captive?" he asked, partially disbelieving.

"No telling," Barney leaned back, eerily relaxed, in his chair, flashing a display of ugly yellow teeth. "But I think, with War Machine on with us, we could put together a tac team, take care of whatever's necessary."

"Well, forgive me for not being innocently trusting, but I find it hard to believe you're all set to make war on the guy you just defended by threatening Mr. Ross, here," Rhodey responded tightly.

Barney stopped, leaning forward again. "Not defending Clint," he clarified, hot breath making little clouds against the glass table. "The skill set. Never disregard the craft."

"You're an archer too, huh?"

"We didn't learn to shoot just so we could look pretty," Barton's eyes glinted. "He's better than I am. That's what the tac team's for. After he gets through all them, that's what you're for."

"How 'bout an approach that attempts _not_ to get the tac team killed?" Rhodey snapped.

"You're the military man," Barton shrugged. "Do whatever you want with 'em. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me," he flashed one additional, threatening smirk in Ross' direction, "I've got some pressing business to take care of."

"He means he's going to have a smoke," Ross said despairingly the minute he left the room. "I've started again myself, all because of him."

Rhodey leaned across the table, a dark frown across his face. "Sir, _what_ is going on?"

Ross didn't answer right away, lifting his eyes to meet the War Machine's with a languid sort of desperation. "Catastrophe," he stated simply. "Like it or not, we're all doomed."


	19. Love, Angst, and Trouble

**A/N: There's a reference to one of my other stories, "Best Way to Meet Your Hero" in here. I hope it makes somebody as happy as it did me :D and doesn't just confuse everyone, lol. Enjoy two chapters in one night! Oh, and biggest thanks to Zarannya, beta for this story! She is awesome!**

 **OH! I have exciting news! I have started a community for Hawkeye/Clint Barton stories that contain at least some Matt Fraction elements, however big or small. Message me if you would like to add your story!**

Love, Angst, and Trouble

…

Laura moved noiselessly across the dusty floorboards of their Canadian safehouse, tiptoeing toward the open door behind which, she knew, there was a glowing computer light.

"Nat?" She slipped inside, as her dearest friend turned with a sigh, and began stretching her arms high above her head. "Did you find anything yet?"

"I took Tony aside and made him tell me everything he'd told Ross," the young assassin explained in a dull tone. "He said the only safe place for the Hulk was off-world." Her hazel eyes met Laura's, full of conflicting emotions. "He's in space."

Laura pulled up a chair beside her, taking a seat and leaning over the tabletop. "I don't know what to tell you," she said softly, eyes evoking her sympathy. "Do you think he's still alive up there?"

"I honestly have no idea," Natasha admitted, closing her laptop and pulling the cord from it. Tony, as an act of truce, had set it up for her earlier, claiming that it was completely untraceable the way he'd configured it. She'd been running intensive searches and hacking into UN, SHIELD, CIA, and Pentagon databases ever since. Most of them were too difficult to decipher with the limited time she'd spent so far, but at least it was a start. "I wouldn't put it past him, but the Hulk is _not_ invincible." Her frown deepened. "Almost, but not quite."

Laura gazed at her, thoughtfully, for a long time. "Which of them do you love more?" she asked, after a moment.

Natasha gave her a questioning look.

"The Hulk, or Dr. Banner? Or are they the same?"

Natasha gave a low chuckle. "No, they're nothing like each other. And not just in the rage and calm, peace-loving sense. The Hulk…" Her voice trailed off. "He's almost invincible, like I said. Nobody knew he wasn't for a long time. And then I found out first, because I—I found out _I_ was his weakness."

"Really? Because that story sounds _very_ familiar." A smile tugged at Laura's lips.

Natasha smiled back, a watery one, but raised an eyebrow.

"You don't recognize a scary legend who told the whole world she was invincible? Even her own family, although they never believed it," Laura continued, laughing for a moment. "Someone who thought she had no weakness in the world, only to find out it was a blundering, peace-loving scientist almost twice her age?"

"You make it sound like I met him on the Internet!"

"Well, you did stalk him at his secret hideaway in India, which is almost just as questionable."

"Laura, how are we gonna find him?" Natasha groaned, leaning against the older woman's shoulder. "I just want to know if he's dead or alive. And either way, how do we bring him back? I don't know where, or how. Tony's right about one thing, though—agreeing to this is definitely something that Bruce would do. He doesn't feel safe anywhere. In space, there's no one he can hurt."

Laura gave her a hug, rubbing her back soothingly (not that someone like Natasha needed such things, but she gave them anyway). "We'll take it one step at a time, honey. If you can't find anything more on here, then…" she said with a shrug, "we'll just break into Secretary Ross' office and ask him ourselves."

Natasha smirked. "Yeah, you won't be doing anything of the sort," she teased. "You'll be here making sure Tony doesn't decide to perform any experiments on your children."

"The thought _has_ crossed my mind," Laura nodded, far too seriously. "Come on," she rose from her seat and stretched. "Let's go make some coffee."

…

"Steve!" The blonde woman rushed toward him with relief, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

"Sharon?" Steve's voice was incredulous as he stopped his work for a moment.

"Are you guys okay? Everyone's intact still, right?" She peered around him, either ignoring for the moment or not noticing the way his grip seemed to falter, or how sad he suddenly seemed to look, whereas before he'd always seemed delighted to see her.

"Hey, I got a splinter in my thumb while getting out of the CIA building," Sam stuck the appendage in the air to show her, not leaving his position at the table. "So, you know—man down. Add that to your head count."

"Sure," Sharon stifled a chuckle, rolling her eyes at him. "Hey," she caught sight of the look on Steve's face, taking both of his forearms in her hands. "What's wrong?"

Steve smiled slightly, trying to pretend he hadn't made that face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothing," he said quickly, shaking his head in the attempt to reassure her.

Sharon frowned, eyebrows dipping low over her blue orbs. "Are you sure?" she pressured gently.

He attempted a smirk and shook his head. "Of course."

She pursed her lips at him, a clear message that said, 'I don't believe you for a second', but merely offered his hand one last squeeze and walked away.

"What happened to our CIA agent?" Fury raised an eyebrow at Sharon. "Everett Ross? I thought you were one of _mine_."

She smiled and folded her arms, clearly glad to see her old Director still in one piece. "I haven't been with SHIELD since it collapsed, Director Fury, you should know that."

"Already getting cheeky with me, aren't you?"

"Well, I do technically outrank you now, Sir."

Fury furrowed his eyebrows and looked to Maria for help.

"I currently outrank all of you, so—" She merely shrugged.

Angela rolled her eyes at their antics. "Won't you sit down, dear?" She frowned tiredly and gestured to the chairs. Her fingers grasped the back of another so hard her knuckles were pale.

She felt out-of-place in the old farmhouse—the one she hadn't lived in since Sam was a baby. The one that looked so different now that it was being lived in by another family. Seeing the children's toys and drawings and books scattered about brought old memories to the surface she hadn't recalled in years.

Nick had been a good father, when he wasn't away, which had been rare. Her eyes slid shut briefly, remembering him on the living room floor, allowing their three-year-old boy to tackle him as his deep, rumbly laugh bounced off Sam's giggly, high-pitched one.

Those devilish looks he used to give her when he caught her staring at them—

She had to turn away.

"Thank you," Sharon told her politely, touching her arm before taking a seat.

It was just enough to pull her out of her reverie, and she attempted a smile before sitting beside the younger woman.

"I'm assuming it's secure in here?" Sharon looked around at all of them, directing the question to Fury.

"You don't know secure until you know _how_ secure Barton has made this place," Fury assured.

She nodded. "Everett got caught up in a kind-of heated discussion with the Director, so he asked me to come and let you guys know what was going on. Over the past few days, Secretary Ross has started acting _very_ strange. Previously, he's never trusted any of the Avengers, but the only one he's held any real animosity toward was the Hulk. Now the Hulk is gone, but suddenly, he's working on writing policies that could mean certain death for all of you guys, and not just the ones of you who helped Steve," her eyes met with his briefly. "It's not absolutely clear yet, but it seems like he means to have all of you either killed or imprisoned, in some form or fashion. Possibly including Stark, definitely including the Vision, and even Thor and Spider-Man were brought up."

Steve's brow furrowed. "Why would he turn on Stark?"

"Yeah," Sam put in, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tony's been feeding him information and letting him pick his brain over for God knows how long. Seems like he'd be losing a valuable asset. Oh, and what about Rhodey?" he added with concern.

"I know," Sharon shrugged. "It doesn't make any sense yet. I have no idea on Colonel Rhodes. Ross is also targeting mutants. The policy drafting is being worded, 'anything and anyone who can be classified as enhanced beyond normal human capacity'. Apparently he has a bigger plan, one nobody has caught on to yet. But here's the stranger thing: Everett encountered him yesterday and Ross demanded to speak with him. Mr. Secretary," she frowned deeply, "has somehow found out about our plan to have him tried and convicted for his crimes. Funny thing is, he was _supportive_ of it."

"Ross was? Supportive _how_?" Maria leaned in, a sense of urgency in her tone.

Sharon nodded grimly. "Ross agreed with Everett that he was guilty and should be removed from office. He didn't let Everett record his voice when he said it, but he agreed to go quietly. Not to resign, but to leave when the time came."

Steve had his arms folded across his chest, frowning. "So it's as if he _wants_ to get caught?"

"For doing something that he's still supporting, namely, having all the Avengers put out without trial," Maria pointed out.

"Everett said he seemed terrified," Sharon continued quietly. "Either he's finding that it's _his_ turn to be controlled by somebody else, or he really has gone crazy."

"Wow," Sam grunted sarcastically. "Is it just me, or does that sound like someone else we know?"

"Tony," Steve nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do we have any new word on him?"

"We don't," Sharon shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry."

Fury actually looked disappointed.

"I wonder just how badly removing Ross from office will screw up the plans of whoever's using him," Maria commented.

"It would be nice if we at least had an idea of who it was—" Sam started.

There was a heavy pounding at the door and all six of them flew onto their feet. "Open up!" a voice shouted from outside, the metal wheeze of a megaphone present. "You have thirty seconds."

"How did anyone find this place?" Maria wondered, gaping.

"Behind me!" Steve ordered them all instantly, sidestepping the wall just to the left of the door.

Everyone moved to follow him, all but Fury, who grabbed Angela's shoulders, ran up to a wall panel, and shoved an old bookcase aside, shoving her through a small passage. "Run!" he exclaimed, in a no-nonsense tone.

"Nick, you son of a—" she started to protest, angrily.

Fury dropped his voice low enough that only the ones closest to them could hear. "I'll come back this time," he promised. Then he smirked. "If you don't turn me out again."

Angela stared for a long, hesitant moment, before dropping her head to her chest and allowing him to close the panel.

"They don't know she's still here," he added to everyone else, as he moved the case back, just as a loud _BANG_ sent the door flying inwards and breaking into splinters.

Steve had ten of the tac team specialists taken down, using nothing but his bare hands, before any of the rest of them got a chance to participate.

A gun went off, and Maria's was firing in rapid succession. Sharon and Fury had weapons as well, but they kept theirs more reserved. Then Steve went down.

Sam stood by the destroyed doorframe, flattening himself against the wall just to the side. "Steve?" he shouted, rapidly glancing from left to right, and briefly out the door, just quickly enough to avoid getting shot himself.

"I'm fine," Steve pulled himself up with a groan. Considering most bullets hardly tended to graze him, the fact that he was now having to lean on Sharon for support was a bad sign.

Then a familiar whine, almost like a power-up from a video game, caused every one of them to freeze in their efforts. "Stand down," a voice said from outside. Then, in a dismayed-sounding tone, "I almost thought I'd never have to say that again."

"That who I think it is?" Sam barked, still holding himself back.

"Come on, guys," Rhodey's voice echoed into the hallway. "Come on out, nobody's going to shoot."

"Aren't you, now?" Fury stepped forward, the first to show himself in the doorway, open and exposed to the firing line of dozens of weapons aimed straight for him.

Rhodey and his team stood in shocked silence for a moment, taking in the sight of a man who was supposed to be—not once, but twice dead. Or at least hiding under a bridge somewhere.

Sam followed a second later, exchanging a glance with his— _whatever_ Fury was to him now—and meeting Rhodey's even stare across the lawn.

The War Machine was no longer in his armor, which was no surprise, as he no longer had the limb function to support himself while wearing it. However, he was wearing the new mechanical 'legs' Tony had designed for him, looking surprisingly stable on his feet, along with the detachable arm gauntlets from Tony's own armor aimed in their direction.

On either side of him was Ross, sporting an uncharacteristically disheveled appearance, and a thickly muscled, brute of a man with reddish white hair.

"I cannot believe this is the second time we're meeting like this." Rhodey frowned tightly. "Or is it the third?"

"Yeah, me neither, Tin Can." That was usually Sam's nickname for Tony, but in this case he figured it could extend to the War Machine as well.

"How many people are in there?" Rhodey demanded coldly. "I'll be honest when I tell you we were looking for leads on Tony, not the whole band of you hiding out like a bunch of rats in a nest. You're not the ones holding him captive, are you?"

"Director Fury," Ross spoke for the first time. He may have looked uncomfortable, but despite that and what Sharon had said, his voice was as calm and self-assured as ever. "How many times are you going to list yourself as 'dead' before you stop showing up in inconvenient places like this?"

"I was thinking about none, but it seems a man can't pretend to be dead very long without some other high-level United Nations chairmember coming along and turning him over in his grave," Fury remained just as impassive.

"Come forward, Gentlemen," Ross instructed, patronizingly. "Anyone else who's in there—make them come out immediately. We're going to burn this place to the ground."

Sam fought visibly to avoid reacting. Fury, however, was prepared to reassure him. As he turned, apparently to assist Steve, who was struggling to breathe through a wound that must've gone through a lung, he gave the Falcon the tiniest of nods. Sam's jaw set hard, not happy to trust Fury with something as absolute as his mom's life, but other than that, he was careful to give away nothing.

As soon as Steve, standing as upright as possible but still blanched pale and breathing in short gasps, appeared in the doorway, Ross's sharp eyes zeroed in on him. Steve's met his in return.

"Captain! It's been far too difficult to find information on you," the Secretary seemed even more pleased than he was with Fury. "I even took in a little acquaintance of your from the U.S. Army and medical school. Katherine Hernandez. We discharged her from the service. Threatened to lock her in a secure facility for the remainder of her life, but she insisted she had no information on you."

"Kay?!" Steve gasped, disbelieving. Beside him, Sharon tightened her grip around his middle. Her arms barely went all the way around. "She was a kid! She didn't know anything!"

"You seem to have loyalties among even the lowest classes," Ross commended, but the praise was mocking. "Royalty, though!" he started clapping, a cold sneer on his wizened face. "Even I could never have guessed you could pull down the king of Wakanda to his knees. If he is a little young for the position, I guess you will have to forgive me for being surprised. Taking advantage of a twenty five year old foreigner mourning his father's loss didn't strike me as a level even you would stoop to."

Steve was silent, as were the rest of them. There was too much at stake that could be given away in a verbal exchange. Not only were they hiding Angela's presence, it was likely that Ross still didn't know Bucky's exact location as of yet, either. Nobody was willing to take the risk of him finding out.

When nobody answered, Rhodey looked over his shoulder, once to the red-haired man behind him, a second time over at Ross. "Let's get these guys locked up secure," he ordered the tac team. "We've got other business to take care of."

The red-haired man calmly lit a cigarette, eyeing the band of superheroes ominously before turning to follow Rhodes.


	20. TAHITI All Over Again

**Aha, it is me, back from the dead! *cringes* I apologize for my impromptu vacation-I got a bit distracted, but am looking forward to continuing this story for y'all awesome people! Many thanks to my betas who continue to support me and this story! Zarannya and Black' Victor Cachat. Be sure to check out their stories as well!**

 **Two communities y'all might be interested in checking out and/or contributing to: Fraction/Aja's Hawkeye (PM me if interested in joining the staff!) and Black' Victor Cachat's HulkXBlackWidow Brutasha.**

 **Bree Colbern: I have a Cap oneshot coming up soon, just for you, girl! Thank you for your reviews! Ah, Kay is so precious, isn't she? I'm trying to decide if I'm gonna bring her in as an actual character in this story!**

 **Amber The Awesome Fangirl: Yeah, yeah ;D jk. I'll try not to hurt Wanda! Precious muffin that she is! Glad it's keeping you on your toes!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Wellll, Bucky's coming, for sure, but it may not be until the end D: And yeah, Rhodey is not always great, haha. Thanks for the review!**

 **WaywardDaughter617: Yep, Rhodey needs a smack in the head, that's for sure! lol. Thanks for your review, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story! :D**

 **gandalf537: Yes! I'm so glad you got the reference to Kay! :D Thanks so much for reviewing!**

 **Liliththestormgoddess: Pietro is back, indeed! And yes, Ross will be trouble and Barney even more ;D thanks so much for your review!**

 **Donlaeta: Oh yes :D How could I not? It was bound to happen at some point, IMO hahaha. Glad you liked it! And we'll see what Ross does with them now...:D Thank you so much for your review!**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: Why hello! ;D Yes, I imagine Clint just takes out his hearing aids whenever the Barney songs come on at home, lol. Then again, who wouldn't? :P Great thoughts on Barney vs Wolvy! :D**

 **Mellia Bee: Sam is SUCH a treasure :D So glad you liked the chapters! Yes, I absolutely love Natasha and Laura's interactions! And I made you (almost) feel sorry for Ross? *pumps fist in air* score! lol. Yep, Barney's an ugly one! Thank you so much for reviewing and I hope you continue to enjoy!**

 **Agentofshield27: Whelp, it was not soon on that update, but I really hope you continue to read the story! Thank you so much for your review, and I'm super glad you've enjoyed it so far! :D**

 **JJFan: Thanks so much for your reviews! I'm so glad you liked Laura :D**

 **...Without Further Ado...**

Chapter 20: TAHITI All Over Again

 _10 minutes earlier…_

"Well, Mr. Barton, I can assure you the likelihood of lasting damage is extremely low," Professor Xavier's cheerful tone stopped Clint in his tracks, as he paced back and forth in front of a large window.

The archer smiled wearily. "That the girl in there that Wolvy talks about? The doctor? She's incredible," he sighed, burrowing his hands in his pockets. "I can't thank you enough."

"Yes, that would be Rogue," Xavier smiled. "She and Logan have always been close. She's not yet a fully qualified medical professional, but she has taken over a great deal of our medical research lately. She no longer possesses mutant powers, thanks to an experimental drug, but she will always be part of the family."

Clint heaved a sigh. "Yeah, Logan said about as much. I guess I was surprised; she's not that much older than Wanda."

"Rogue mentioned you told her that Miss Maximoff's powers had come from experimentation," the professor continued, tone lingering over the last word. "She mentioned a…Mind Stone."

Clint stiffened involuntarily. He had hated sharing the information with anyone, but Wanda's condition when they'd arrived had necessitated it.

"You don't strike me as the kind of man who would give away such information so freely," Xavier observed. "Why did you?"

Clint shifted his stance. The truth was, he'd been concerned for Rogue's safety. And Wanda herself would never be able to face the guilt if she woke up and found she had hurt someone while unconscious. "Look," he said with a sigh, "I know you're used to dealing with mutants, but Wanda's not a mutant. She's much more powerful than that."

Amused, Xavier smiled up at him. "And what sort of power do you associate when you think of a mutant's capabilities, eh?"

Clint smiled as well, but his was tight. "I've seen mutants wipe out hundreds without breaking a sweat," he acknowledged. "I've seen 'em disappear and reappear and destroy buildings and tear apart time itself, just from my old days working with SHIELD. I know how powerful they can be, and I'm telling you, Wanda is in a category all to herself."

"Well, there's no denying that," Xavier offered liberally. "Tell me, how often has she been injured in battle?"

"What?" Clint's head snapped toward him.

"Has she ever been seriously injured?" he shrugged, repeating the question. "Or rather, perhaps, has she ever required a lengthy recovery from any serious injury by _normal_ standards?"

"She heals fast," Clint offered carefully. "It's some sort of side effect from the experiments. I guess."

"Or, the reason she survived those experiments was because Hydra knew she was, in fact, a mutant to begin with."

Clint's whole body jerked in his direction. "Are you saying that because it's your theory, or—"

"On the contrary," Xavier smiled at his reaction. "My colleagues and I have been keeping an eye on the Maximoff twins for a number of years. When her life was in danger several hours ago, I knew of it and dispatched Logan to assist you. I'll be honest, however, when I say that I've never met her in person before now."

"She and her brother," the archer continued, swallowing a lump in his throat, "were orphaned, a long time ago. Why didn't you help them then?"

"I did," Xavier replied quickly. "I sent a mutant to help clear them out of the rubble when their home was attacked and their parents killed. I had no idea who they were at the time. But when my messenger discovered who their parents were, he—ah—"

"Their parents were normal," Clint frowned. "Civilians."

Xavier looked him directly in the eye. "Not necessarily, no." He shook his head, offering him a slight but sad smile. "But that…is a story for another day."

"Pietro was a mutant too, then," Clint muttered, almost to himself, his gaze drifting out to the courtyard where the students ran around playing, studying, or causing mischief in their own, superpower-enabled ways.

Xavier gave him a funny look. "Indeed he was."

A long pause fell between them, during which time both of their attention remained on the young mutants outside.

"There a lot of students here?" Clint broke the silence after a while.

"It varies," the professor answered, smiling as he was glad to change the subject. "This is a safe haven for mutants of all ages. The older ones, we usually find a place for teaching classes and training the younger mutants. There aren't that many of them in comparison. Mutations are becoming more common as generations pass us by," his voice carried a grave tone, implying a greater meaning as he met Clint's gaze.

"What do you mean by that?" the archer caught on, giving the other man a deep frown.

Xavier folded his hands underneath his chin. "There is something I've been advised to share with you that has been withheld from nearly every mutant living in this community," he replied slowly. "Not even Logan knows all the details."

"Who advised you?" he asked cautiously.

Xavier smiled. "A mutual friend. Am I right in assuming you are well-acquainted with Director Phil Coulson?"

Clint's eyes widened. "Coulson's been _here?_ " his voice dropped to a hush. He'd only seen Phil once, ONCE—since TAHITI. Enough to know that he was truly alive and well—nothing more.

Which was partly a relief for Clint because, well—he had some important things he really didn't want to tell his old handler. REALLY important things.

"Director Coulson gave me files and witness reports detailing the work of SHIELD scientists on the 'Inhumans', as mutants are referred to in some circles. His assessments agreed with many of my own design. As it turns out, the number and frequency of human mutations is increasing at a rapid rate." Xavier made his voice sound almost casual, but by the way his eyes squinted in concern as he stared out the window, Clint knew otherwise.

"A number of calculations seem to suggest that by the time the next generation comes of age, at least 12% of them will have mutant genes, whether or not these will be expressed noticeably or right away when they reach adulthood. This isn't natural selection—this is outside influence."

"You mean aliens," Clint nodded soberly.

"Quite possibly. I thought it would be best that you should know."

"Yeah, well, I've been up close and personal with 'em, if that's what you mean," Clint sighed, running a hand across the stubble that had grown on his chin. He'd rather pretend Loki never happened, but hey, when did he ever get what he wanted in life?

Xavier, however, was silent. "You do realize," he murmured, after a few moments of silence, "that the way these statistics are running means that your children—"

Clint's gaze sharpened like a knife blade as he turned on the older man.

"—could also be affected. After all," the professor continued, unaffected, "your oldest was a mutant for twenty years and didn't even know it," his eyes twinkled slightly, referring to Wanda as Clint's daughter like everyone else had taken to doing.

Clint, however, was _not_ smiling by the end of that sentence. He kept his face calm on the exterior, but there was a hint of the underlying venom in his tone. "What makes you think I have other kids?"

Xavier remained just as calm, much to Clint's annoyance. "What makes you think I would tell anyone else?" he replied in a smooth tone.

"Not even Loki knew," Clint's fist tightened at his side, ready for use if it would be needed. "How did you find out?"

Xavier leaned in toward the archer with a gleam in his eye. "Something alien is causing human genes to mutate more and more rapidly, Clint."

"If you think I have the answer to that— because of Loki?!" Clint seethed. "I don't have a clue! How did you know about _my kids_?"

"Natural mutation," Xavier continued, as if he hadn't heard the question, "causes the genetic code to be compromised, damaged. It causes birth defects, weakens the body. This new and different form of mutation is making us _more_ powerful, adding abilities that cannot have evolved from preexisting human genetic makeup."

Clint's expression darkened like a summer storm. He'd had enough. "Don't think," he said, leaning in closer and whispering to the man before him, "that your wheelchair OR your telepathic b******* is going to stop me from wringing your neck if you don't answer my question in the next six seconds. No one will _ever_ be allowed to save one of my kids and threaten the rest."

"I am not threatening your children, Barton," Xavier replied calmly, attempting to soothe the bristling agent. "I am _warning_ you. As I had mentioned, I keep an eye on _all_ mutants, and that they are now as common as Honor-roll students. What makes you think that your own biological children would be excluded from these occurrences?"

Color drained from Clint's face as quickly as it had flared up. "What are you _saying?_ "

…

Tony refused to glance over his shoulder as he caught the shadow of Laura standing in his doorway. He was _not_ going to look at her. He was not going to talk, not going to let her _fix_ this. Not any of _this,_ not any of _him_ —just, _no._

She'd done enough.

"Hi," she said, speaking tentatively.

Tony didn't hear her—or at least, he pretended not to.

 _Don't—listen_.

He'd done the right thing.

"What are you working on?"

He hadn't _killed_ Bruce. _He'd saved the whole of civilization._

Done what his old pal would've wanted, really.

 _He_ hadn't even done it himself, he might add.

"Tony, we need to talk."

Tony was getting remarkably good at talking to himself, thanks very much.

But she sounded so much like _Pepper_ when she used that tone of voice, he had to stop.

"What you did was wrong," Laura stepped cautiously into the room, arms crossed over her chest to stave off the slight chill. "A lot of things you did were wrong."

Knuckles turning white, he planted his fists on the edge of the sawhorse that he'd found in the basement. Carpentry was Clint's thing, apparently, even in his safe houses. "So glad I made it in time for the pep talk," he ground out, still not turning around.

"I just want you to know I don't blame you," Laura told him, to his surprise. "It's okay."

"It wasn't wrong," Tony insisted, but his voice faltered even as he tried, thinking he had convinced himself.

Maybe he wasn't so sure all of a sudden.

"We all do things that are wrong," she continued, her voice gentle, yet concerned. "But that doesn't mean we can't do things that are right."

"What, and make up for all the screw-ups? There's _hundreds_ of those," Tony finally spun around, his voice rising in spite of himself, "Thousands that nobody even knows about. Hundreds of thousands! I am a complete and utter failure because I knew too much to sit back and do nothing. Earth is about to be _invaded_ , Laura."

He dropped his voice low, startling Laura as she realized he was confiding top-secret information to her.

"And nobody else believes me," he continued, angrily. "I've seen it, during the Battle of New York. Up there in space, with my own two eyes. _That's_ why we needed Ultron to work. _That's_ why we need the government on our side. Do you know what that's like? To give up everything, even your own best pal and your girlfriend and your teammates, to build things everyone will hate you for, because if you don't, the whole planet is going to go up in a ball of smoke?"

"I'm not saying you didn't have good reasons," she bit her lip in sympathy. "We all have good reasons."

Tony shook his head in frustration. "I don't even know what's right anymore."

"Is Dr. Banner still alive, Tony?" her voice rose to high-pitched.

He refused to answer.

"You betrayed him. Of all the people who could have helped you keep this world safe?! Is it so far-fetched to label that as 'wrong'?"

"I don't know," he growled, banging a wrench around on random pieces of metal, as if it would help them come together a little more smoothly. "Ross wanted him out of the way. Or he would have used him for something worse. Banner knew that—he and Ross have been beating around each other for years."

"If you made a mistake," she sighed, quieting a little, "there is nothing wrong with admitting it so you can _move on_."

"I tried to make up for Ultron!" he angrily exclaimed. "I'll try to make up for this, too, okay? But guess what? It won't work."

"Not _make up_ for it," Laura insisted, pleading with him. "Learn from it. So you don't _keep_ betraying your friends, one by one, until there's no one left!"

Tony, in all his genius, couldn't make head or tail of that. He didn't _want_ to move on.

After all, he'd _tried,_ and look where it had gotten him. Labelled as a murderer, nearly killed by the leader of the Avengers, and abandoned by Pepper.

Yeah, moving on was definitely not his strong suit.

He spun around, continuing to work, banging pieces of metal together a little harder than he probably needed to.

Laura lingered in the doorway, watching him with sad, motherly eyes, for a long few minutes before leaving as well.

…

A short time later, after Wanda's dramatic awakening and Pietro appearing out of nowhere, Clint stumbled out into the hallway, relieved to find that he was alone. Unless some of these morons were invisible and just happened to be spying on him, in which case he figured he'd catch up to them with a putty arrow at some time or another.

Slowly, he drew in a long, shaky breath and let it out again.

First Phil, and now Pietro. The two people besides Laura and the kids he'd cared about most, killed in the line of duty, and Fury had seen fit to bring both of them back.

It had Fury's trademark sketchy, grey morals written all over the situation, but Clint was undeniably, selfishly grateful anyway.

First it had been Phil. Phil was his best friend. Phil had been killed while _Clint_ was under freakish alien mind-control. Clint had literally been forced to organize the entire attack on the Helicarrier. Making his old mentor's death _his_ fault, really.

Losing Phil had been pretty bad.

But Pietro was even worse, maybe. Pietro was young. Pietro was brash and selfless and stupid. And Pietro had no idea what he was doing—all that time of staying ahead of everyone else had led the speedster to think he was invincible.

Clint hadn't known him very well. A day or so teaming up, out of necessity, under hostile circumstances didn't do much for developing deep, meaningful relationships.

It didn't matter, however, because he _knew_ things about Pietro from reliving every single moment of their interactions over and over again after that horrible battle…every shot, every wound, every angle; every possible motivation that could have led to a freaking _kid_ tearing across the wreckage taking bullet after bullet for _him_. The memories had haunted him day and night since that moment.

The longer he had considered everything he could possibly remember about Pietro, the more he felt not only guilty for being the one who lived but like he _missed_ having the kid around, what could have been, like it had been with Wanda. If it were possible to learn to care about someone more after they were dead than when they were alive, such had happened to Clint with Pietro.

And then, as if on cue, the same image he'd been staring at for months until it made him sick just to think of it flashed in front of him briefly.

 _Dust, rubble. The pinging sound of gunshots bouncing off every surface mercilessly, raining down on them from every corner. Clint swung around, determined to protect the kid underneath of him if that's the very last thing he'd draw a breath to do. He'd die, going down knowing he'd at least saved someone instead of leaving Laura and the kids for no reason._

 _He crunched his eyelids together, his heart thrumming madly just above the kid's, one organ protecting another in the slightest chance that it would be enough to save the child—in the slightest chance the bullets wouldn't rip right through both of them at once._

 _He'd done this for Natasha, once. When there had been a hospital fire in Budapest. Maybe this kid would grow up to be strong, like her, in some way._

 _And then the unthinkable happened—a rush of air and suddenly he was still standing there, unharmed, the noise having stopped. The quiet was eerie. Clint looked up, hardly daring to do so, and there it was._

 _Tiny smirk, soot-covered face, white hair disheveled in every direction. "You didn't see_ that _coming."_

 _A statement, not even a question._

 _And then—nothing._

Clint came back to the present to find himself wiping tears from his cheeks.

The kid was alive.

He was _alive._

A sudden rush of blue into the hallway caused him to scrub hastily at his face with his sleeve, trying to dry himself off before he was seen.

"Hey, Old Man."

"Hey, punk," he cleared his throat and attempted to smile.

Pietro lingered around, like he wasn't sure if he felt comfortable staying, but didn't want to just leave Clint, either. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Why don't you quit runnin' around for a sec, and come over here and sit down?"

Anyone could have seen Pietro's reluctance, but something in his eyes—probably guilt? Flashed before he cautiously shrugged and slunk down the wall to sit beside the archer. "Not sure how long I can manage that," he warned, with a halfway grin.

"What all do you do here?" Clint's hand dropped from his eyes as he began to talk, voice steadying. "Does Xavier put you to work, or what? You just run around all day, accidentally ending up in pretty young ladies' rooms?"

Pietro slapped a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I stay busy around the mansion," he explained, protesting. "The old man—other old man— mostly tries to keep everyone from using me as an errand boy. We have a number of enemies, us mutants. Fighting them gives us plenty of work to do, even if Tooth-and-Claw doesn't think I'm well-trained enough to go on high-level missions."

"Yeah, I can see why," Clint sighed tiredly, running a hand through his hair.

"What do you mean by that?" the younger man exclaimed, hotly.

"Oh, I'm not trying to say you're not well-trained," Clint corrected himself. He was still tripping over half of his words, too much in shock to look the kid straight in the eye. He was supposed to be DEAD! "I've seen you in action. You weren't too bad, not so long ago…" his voice trailed off. He wondered for a second if he could actually do this—normal. Having a conversation. Almost-pretending everything hadn't just been ripped away from him and pieced back together before his eyes. "Peter, isn't it?"

'Peter' shook Clint's hand, remarkably refraining from pulling any kind of speed-jerk on him in the process. "They tell me it's not my real name," he shrugged, "but it sounds similar enough that I like to use it. Thing is," he shrugged, contemplatively, "I have no idea who I was before I woke up in a hospital. I do not know if I am the same person anymore, or if I'm someone else. If you knew me before, how do you think it is? Am I all that different from before I lost my memory, or am I nearly the same?"

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Not the same, no. I don't think any of us are," he admitted. "Did they tell you how you ended up in that hospital?"

"Something about fighting a giant robot and nearly dying? Sounded like what they talk about on TV. I am not sure I even want to know how I ended up fighting against Ultron," he rolled his eyes, disdain filling his voice as he clearly though they were avoiding telling him the truth, since the story seemed so ludicrous. "Or how I ended up with the Avengers. Nobody even likes them anymore."

Clint broke out laughing, relieving the slight tension of sorrow that still hung in the room. "You did _not_ just say that." He nudged Pietro with his elbow. "The guy who can run at like, 400 miles an hour and still be totally in control did not just say he can't believe he fought a giant robot. And you can't believe everything you watch on TV, you know."

Pietro's look was immediately one of protest, though he grinned as well. "Most of my waking time has been around no one but other mutants," he argued. "I thought having powers was normal until I started going on one or two low-grade missions. It seems the rest of the world is not so lucky."

"Lucky?" Clint echoed. "You and your sister went through torture to have your powers enhanced and refined. I saw the videos. Luck had nothing to do with it."

Pietro smiled, and his voice dropped a little lower. "The girl in there—is she really my sister?" he pointed his thumb in the direction of Wanda's room. "I feel bad now," he chuckled guiltily when Clint nodded. "How did she get hurt?"

Clint's expression instantly faded. "Long story short," he explained, guilt flooding his features, "I dragged her into something I shouldn't have. Some guys who wanted to kill me ended up going after her instead. I thought I was gonna lose—" he stopped, swallowing hard as he glanced over at Pietro's listening expression, "Well, I thought I was gonna lose both of you."

The two of them sat quietly for a moment. Peter folded his hands under his chin, knuckles brushing against the stray dark whiskers he hadn't had patience to shave. "I am not sure I want to know how I got injured, either," he explained, with some hesitation.

Clint looked over curiously.

"I cannot go back and change what I did, and I may never remember it myself. The only thing I really did remember is that I was sent to Tahiti to recover," he shrugged.

"Let me guess," Clint asked in annoyance, "it's a magical place?"

Peter stared at him in shock, mouth hanging slightly open. "How did you know?"

Clint rolled his eyes and waved him off. _Just what he needed._ "You sure you don't want to know?" he asked after a moment. "Cause if I were you, I'm not sure I could stand _not_ knowing how I—well."

Peter frowned and shook his head. "Believe me, Old Man, I have thought about it for months. I've decided I really don't want to. One thing, though, I do want to know," he added, a tiny smile on his lips.

"What's that?"

"What is my sister like?"

"What?" Clint snorted, shifting his position on the floor. "I thought you were gonna say something snarky!"

Peter groaned good-naturedly. "Sorry to disappoint. If you want, I can come up with something suitable—"

"No, no, by all means, please go ahead and ask a serious question!"

Peter sighed, rolling his eyes. "I do not want to cause her more trouble than I already have. I did not mean to scare her earlier. I genuinely had no idea who she was. How do I get to know her without upsetting her again?"

Clint was admittedly caught a little off-guard by this sudden display of maturity in the speedster beside him. Or was it that Pietro suddenly assumed he could trust Clint with the finer things of life, being relieved to finally meet someone who had known him before the battle?

"When you d— _almost_ died," he caught himself quickly, "it damaged something inside of her. You two punks meant a lot to each other, I guess. She sometimes talks about how she could connect to you with her mind-powers, whatever that meant. The only thing I can suggest to you is—be nice to her, don't be upset if she gets angry at you for no reason—she's been through a lot."

He turned to look at Piet—Peter, and found the kid staring at him with an agonized look on his face. "You talk incredibly slowly," Peter informed him.

"You asked!" Clint defended himself, holding out a hand.

"Can I go now?" Peter exclaimed, taking it and pulling Clint to his feet.

"Yeah, get out of here before I shut that mouth of yours myself," Clint swatted him on the thigh, but missed as Peter grinned and shot away before he made contact.

Left alone in the hallway, Clint was left smiling until the weight of what had happened truly sunk in on him.

He leaned against the wall, resisting the urge to smack his head against it a good few times. Maybe it would help him process everything a little faster.

It was just like Phil all over again.

 **Next chapter coming very soon, I hope! :D Wish me luck ;P**

 **Until next time, you fabulous readers!**

 **~Marina**


	21. Bring Us The Witch

7

 **A/N: I know, it has been forever too long! I'm so sorry, dear readers—thank you for your patience, anyone who is still excited about this story! I'm looking forward to hearing your responses for the huge cliffie at the end of this chapter…*cough shameless promotion cough***

 **The biggest thank-you ever goes to Black'VictorCachat, without whose help this chapter would have been a shambled mess or perhaps not even existent! Go check out his awesome stories and community!**

 **JJFan: Thanks! So glad you liked chapter 13, and I hope you'll stick around! :D**

 **Black'VictorCachat: Sooooo grateful for your help on this one!**

 **AgentofLegends27: Me, too! Even though 'back' for me sometimes takes a few tries :P I'm so glad you liked it and I hope you'll continue to read! :D**

 **Mellia Bee: Oh yes, poor Clint! D: and sadly, things are going to keep getting worse for him for a while! You're right, Laura absolutely has the confession stare! Tony better watch his back! So glad to have you as a reader, and I love reading your reviews! :D**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Yep, have to agree with you ;D Abusing Clint is just way too easy, unfortunately!**

 **Gandalf537: Thank you, thank you! I so appreciate having you as a reader! :D**

 **LisaG16: Aww, thank you! And welcome to the story! I hope you continue to read. Things are getting exciting :D**

 **Brandibuckeye: Thank you so much! I really appreciate your review! Hope you continue to enjoy this chapter as well :D**

 **Donlaeta: Awww, thank you! That means a lot! I'm sorry it probably seemed like I've abandoned it all over again, but I haven't, I'm still here :D I hope you continue to enjoy the story!**

 **Rose7anne101: Heyo! :D OMG, thank you so much for all your wonderful, amazing reviews! I'm so sorry I haven't PM'd or anything about them yet. You seem like such a cool person, not just from your sweet reviews but also from what BVC has told me ;D I am super excited to meet you and have you as a reader! It's super cool that you speak Arabic—I have no idea if my translation was good or not, haha. I don't speak Arabic—I speak Google Translate! :P Glad you like Sam's mother (and father, lol). Yes, Bruce is in space! To be continued… hehe. I would love to join your evil club ;D Hmm, you had a good suggestion! Maybe I should bring in Loki! That would be interesting if he can fit in here somehow. We shall see. And yes, Clint knows that Phil is alive! So does everyone else, now. I'm not sure yet if he will make an appearance, but I hope so. Thank you once again for your support! :D**

 **TheEliteLabRatsLover: Awww, I'm so glad you liked it! I figured we all know Pietro has to come back at some point, so why not bring him back now? :D OMG, yes, speedsters and archers and all the FEELS!—! It was hard enough to handle the one set of them, and now there's TWO vying for dominance in my life! :P Thank you so much for your review! *hugs***

Chapter 21: Bring Us The Witch

It was well into the night and Tony was still messing around in the shed, not even entirely sure what exactly he was trying to build. Some kind of computer, maybe. He didn't even have a motherboard to start with.

That other thing he had left lying on the table an hour ago looked kind of like a weapon. Given that it could produce heat rays over 300K, it would probably work pretty well for—something—weapon-y.

Not that he was concerned, the last few days had been so uneventful that even the Black Widow was starting to relax.

A faint rustling in the otherwise silent shed sent his senses onto high alert. His head shot up, eyes darting around, searching for the source.

There was nothing.

He picked up his screwdriver again, but the second he did so, the noise returned.

"Who's there?" he barked loudly, again swiveling in a large circle. He had the weirdest feeling of being watched, for all of thirty seconds.

Then, just as it had come, it disappeared.

Tony shook his head briefly, wondering if he was losing his mind.

Then he nearly fell over when he looked down at the table. Right in front of him lay a scrap of paper, with a message scribbled in a disturbingly bright and sloppy green ink, that _definitely_ hadn't been there before.

…

"We need to leave. Now," Tony demanded, bursting in the door to the safe house. His brow wrinkled at the smell coming from the kitchen. "Is baking, like, a compulsion for you? We're _on the run_ and you're pulling brownies out of the oven."

Laura gave him a dirty look, setting the hot pan on the stovetop. "I don't see you complaining once you're alone in the back seat with them."

"They smell better than the henhouse you've got back there, I'll admit that much. Seriously, though. We have to leave."

He held out the note, noting how Laura paled as much as he had when she saw it.

" _BRING US THE WITCH OR YOUR CHILDREN WILL DIE,"_ it read, in blotchy, bold green letters.

"Who is this?" Laura demanded breathlessly, catching the counter behind her. General threats were one thing. Threats that specifically targeted her children? That was a whole different scenario.

"Found it in the shed. I have no idea who it is. But I think they _might_ be invisible," he explained breathlessly.

"And they think we actually know where Wanda is?" An angry heat began to rise in Laura's cheeks. Tony was a tiny bit afraid of what she was about to turn into. Something in her seemed to snap and suddenly, she was all business. "Get the kids and I'll get Nat," she instructed, untying the flowery apron from her waist like she was preparing for battle. "We leave in three minutes, tops."

…

They drove for two more days without any incidents, but still, a slight tension remained among the three grownups in the Barton family minivan.

"Okay," Tony announced, once again sitting in the back seat as threatened. "We've been running for, what, three weeks now? I say we take stock of our assets. Busted suit, pan of brownies, five sleeping bags. Three kids."

"One extremely ticked-off at you assassin," Natasha volunteered humorlessly, from the front where she was seated in the driver's seat, gloved hands gripping the wheel despite the fact that it was still warm outside.

Lucky shifted from his position perched on the center console (where he pretended he could fit, but really didn't), and climbed into Tony's lap like it was the most expected thing in the world.

"One golden retriever," Tony grumbled, forced to pass off the brownies to Cooper to prevent them from being infected with dog hair.

"You know, they eat dogs in some parts of the world," Cooper piped up, sounding academic.

Lila gasped. "We can't eat Lucky!" Her lip trembled like she might cry. Nathaniel took her cue to start actually crying.

"Everyone _calm down_ , we are not eating Lucky!" Laura exclaimed, shouting to be heard above the noise.

"Stark's been to rural parts of China. Haven't you, Tony?" Nat gave the empty highway ahead of her a smug smile.

Cooper's eyes grew wide. "Have you eaten dogs, Mr. Stark?"

"Um," Tony began, awkwardly holding the one in his lap, "Seeing as I'm being stared at by one, I'd rather not answer that just yet."

"You _have_ eaten dogs _?!"_ Lila exclaimed, starting to cry again.

"I'm sure Mr. Stark would never do something like that," Laura declared, even louder this time.

"Actually, uh—"

She turned around and shot a smoldering glare in his direction. "Do NOT contradict me while I am saving your butt."

"Right," Tony grumbled, shifting around. "Guess what, kids?" He smiled sweetly in Lila's direction. "We're having brownies for lunch!"

Even Nate stopped crying as the other two cheered, and Laura slunk down in her seat with her hands over her ears.

"You know," Tony pointed out to Natasha, after a moment, "You really shouldn't drive like that. If we hit something, like a moose, out here, your leg would go—" he gave such a chilling impression of a leg-snapping noise that Laura jumped and shuddered.

"I've killed over six hundred and fifty-two people nearly twice my size. You really think I couldn't handle a moose?" Natasha replied dully, just as a shadowy figure leaped out in front of their car.

Everyone gasped, Natasha barely having time to veer over, missing whoever had just tried to hit them.

Then something smacked into their car from behind.

"Drive!" Laura shouted at Natasha, who was already doing it, flooring the gas pedal as hard as she could.

Lucky barked and growled, and the kids began screaming.

"Shotgun!" Tony shouted to Laura, who handed it to him as he began cranking down the manual window, just enough to take aim out of from the side.

He could see a dark-headed creature, shaped like a human but hardly anything like one, crawling on the edge of the van like a chameleon. Even with the speed they were putting on, the spikes in its feet and hands penetrated the shell of the vehicle, inching forward as it snarled at Tony.

Without remorse, he aimed the shotgun and fired the first round, feeling it kick his arm back into the window with force enough to bruise.

The creature dropped to the side, dodging the shot unharmed, but leaped from the vehicle leaving the large claw-marks behind.

They hit a huge bump in the road, and Tony hit his head on the ceiling of the vehicle. Then they hit another, and another and anoth—

"What the heck is going on in here!" he shouted above the sounds of screaming and howling (and frantic clucking that wasn't heard so much). They continued bumping, bumping—but the bumping no longer felt like a road underneath of them. He peered out the window, shocked to see that they were about twelve feet off the ground.

Natasha clenched the wheel, craning her neck to see out the windows. A slight shake in her voice, the kind of which Tony could swear he'd never heard from her before, was present when she spoke. "We're being carried," she announced.

Laura leaped out of her seat and into the back with the kids, grabbing all three of them and covering them with her body as the car swerved, falling to the ground with a loud THUD, swiveling around and rolling backwards down the highway as it finally came to a gradual stop.

All that came was eerie silence.

Lucky growled, hair standing up on the back of his neck.

Tony re-cocked the shotgun, unbuckling from his seat as he stood ready by the window.

Then, seemingly without cause, the car frame began to bend. Bits and pieces of metal came flying off, bolts, and in a split second, the entire van was ripped in two, Natasha and the driver's side of the car flying up into the air and away from the rest.

Tony kept his mouth shut, not daring to call her name. He couldn't see her—just the huge hole in front of them that left them all now exposed.

He expected something Thor-like to descend from the clouds after a feat like that.

What he got was far more disappointing.

A wrinkled old man, in a metal helmet like a Star Wars knockoff or a re-gift from Comic Con and a billowing black cape, with an equally boring grey flight suit-thing descended from a mere three feet above them, smiling when he saw Tony's shotgun.

He raised a hand and the gun was wrenched from his grasp, flying off to the side. Natasha, with her ever-present arsenal of weaponry, was nowhere in sight.

Not to be deterred, Tony reached in the back for the bulky heat-ray gun he'd been working on at the safe house. But before he could even lay a hand on that, it too flew out of the pile of sleeping bags and into the caped grandpa's hand. The man didn't so much as lift a finger as Tony's last weapon was easily and promptly crushed into a metal cube.

Tony's resolve withered immediately.

"Greetings!" The man in the helmet announced his presence, in an all-too-cheery tone.

Tony refused to take his eyes off their attacker. Beside him, Lucky crouched low, snarling like a wild animal, saliva dripping from his teeth. Laura kept her face hidden, still crouched over all three of the kids, who were all whimpering quietly.

From either side, the black crawling guy from earlier and a huge, minotaur-like guy—woman?—thing stormed up and stood waiting like henchmen for the caped man to give a command.

The man smiled at Tony, a small, pitying smile. "Allow us to show you our… _traditional_ …hospitality."

…

Professor Xavier looked up momentarily from his _Classics in Ancient Philosophy_ , cocking an eyebrow when Pietro blew in, right on time as expected.

"Thirty-two point oh five six," the speedster declared proudly, chest heaving for air, brandishing the morning paper with a little wave before he deposited it on the professor's desk.

"Thirty-two point oh five _seven_ ," Xavier corrected, holding up a watch with a twinkle in his eye. "Don't try and convince me you hadn't left for the news office at least one-tenth of a second before I actually saw your visage fade from view."

Pietro was already in the corner of Xavier's office, fiddling with first one object on the mantelpiece, then another, like a distracted preschooler.

Rolling his eyes affectionately, the professor suddenly caught sight of the newspaper's headline.

The comfortable smile on his face promptly drained as he picked it up and examined it closely.

"Peter," he began, his tone so grim that it stopped the speedster in his tracks, "Take this to Mr. Barton's room and show it to him, please. I need to find Logan so he can help me with Cerebro..."

Pietro shrugged, then sped off with the paper before Xavier had finished his sentence.

…

Pietro knew Clint was more often to be found in Wanda's room than his own, unless the two of them were ambling around the house or grounds together. The several days they had spent at the school had taught him that the pair were nearly inseparable—though perhaps, Wanda's near-death experience had contributed to that phenomenon.

He _did_ stop in front of Wanda's room, despite the temptation to barge right on in.

He and Wanda had 'talked' about his little interruptions, which he seemed to do without even thinking about it at all odd times of the day. Popping in and out, checking on her in her sleep in the middle of the night, bringing her things he thought she might need.

She never appeared _displeased_ to see him, but she _had_ just been recently poisoned. He guessed she probably took longer to recover from things like that than he did. And, apparently, she had thought he was dead.

He knocked at least thirty times at rapid-fire speed, rolling his neck to get all the kinks in his impatience. Finally, the door opened, and as he expected, Clint was the one staring back at him from the other side of the doorframe.

The archer raised a dubious eyebrow at Pietro as he slung a towel around the back of his neck.

Pietro held the newspaper back slightly, offering Clint a very serious expression. "How's your blood pressure?"

Clint glared at him with all his might. "Fine." He snatched the paper and took one glance at it—"oh, God—" he went white as a sheet.

"This is why I have to ask," Pietro joked, probably inappropriately, as he sped around to Clint's shoulder and forced him efficiently down into a nearby chair. Even he barely made it before Clint's legs gave out.

Clint shakily rubbed a hand underneath the chin, wiping away some of the post-shower sweat as he continued to stare down at the page.

"What?" Pietro was starting to feel worried, and he wasn't even sure why. "You know that guy? Tony Stark? He's famous, right?"

"Shut up, kid, _let go_ ," Clint clumsily batted Pietro's hand away from his shoulder, and breathed deeply through his nose. "Yeah, I know him. It's worse than that—way worse than that…"

…

 _ANTHONY STARK FOUND DEAD IN CANADA,_ the headlines read.

Wanda watched the footage in horror with the TV remote hanging limply from one hand. "Could this get any worse?" she whispered, heart breaking as she realized the man on the screen, the one she knew personally and had finally learned to forgive before they'd all been turned dramatically _against_ one another, was actually _gone._

"It gets worse."

Wanda turned, alarm bells going off in her head at the quality of Clint's voice. He sounded shaky and faint.

Clint _never_ sounded faint.

She saw him clutching the morning newspaper, his face and neck having gone bloodlessly white. He tossed it on the bed in front of her, and she gaped as she saw the headline.

 _MYSTERY WOMAN ACCUSED OF MURDERING TONY STARK_

Underneath, in a mug shot perfectly stereotypical complete with lack of makeup and bright orange jumpsuit, was Laura.

 **Now, the big question: Who will leave the 200'th review!? I have 199 as I'm posting this! :D**

 **Hope you all liked it, as usual, and will join me for the next round shortly!**

 **~Marina**


	22. Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen

**A/N: I am thrilled beyond words! :D So many readers are still coming, and I so appreciate you all! Just a small note: I know I threw in Lucky out of nowhere in the last chapter, and the poor chickens just kind of disappeared. I'm sure they'll be adopted by some Canadian farmer…/: Anyway, sorry about the continuity. Also, Kay makes a reappearance in this chapter! For those who don't know, she is my OC from my story 'Best Way to Meet Your Hero'. Her timeline is also very messed up, but aside from that, those of you who know who she is can assume the events of both chapters from that story have already happened at this point.**

 **HUGE thanks to Black' Victor Cachat and Zarannya for their beta-ing expertise and amazing suggestions! Please, check out their stories as well! :D**

 **Thanks y'all, and I hope you enjoy!**

 **Replies to reviewers:**

 **Black' Victor Cachat: #200! :D Woohoo! Couldn't have made it half this far without your help! And yes, I will shamelessly promote forever ;D**

 **TheEliteLabRatsLover: They so are! :D Hmm, you'll just have to wait and see what happened to poor Tony. I'm still figuring it out myself, but your suspicion is well-placed ;D Thanks for reviewing mah dear!**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Me too! And Nat…aw, she's somewhere around here…Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Brandibuckeye: Sweet, glad you liked it! I agree, it has been too long!**

 **AgentofLegends27: Yes indeed! :D Aw, thank you! I'm so glad you like it! I absolutely loved your work as well. Keep writing! You have some really great ideas and I'm sure you'll get more and more attention as time goes on! :D**

 **Rose7anne101: Yes! I want brownies, too! Haha. I get the feeling that you have a love/hate relationship with Tony? :D Okay, I am the cliffhanger princess! ;D That's okay with me. Thanks so much for reviewing. You are awesome!**

 **Gandalf537: Thank you! :D I've been looking forward to dropping that cliffie for a while. I sure hope you like this chapter, too!**

 **TheEvilAvenger: Yep yep yep! :D I know, it's wild! I'm still scrambling to figure out exactly what's going on with Tony, but all will be revealed in the end :D Thanks so much for reviewing!**

 **Donlaeta: Not a joke, but not all news is accurate ;D and that's all I'm saying! Thanks so much for your review and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Gamer: Absolutely, thrilled to bring him back :D We all know it's going to happen in the movies, anyway, right? Thanks for your review!**

Chapter 22: Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen

 _24 hours earlier_

The cellar was dark, damp and reeked of sweat and some other odor Laura couldn't quite identify. Exotic, or alien, perhaps. She wasn't about to exclude anything from her mental list of possibilities. She glared at their captor from the door to her cell.

"I suspect that Mr. Stark decided to refrain from sharing my note with you," the caped individual, who had introduced himself as 'Magneto', began, facing both her and Stark as they stared him down Each of them were trapped in individual cells with their own barred doors.

Laura had been separated from the kids - who had been deposited in a single cell to their right - and couldn't see them at all no matter how far she craned her neck. "What the Hell is wrong with you?" she growled at the man in the helmet. "Threatening my children! Do you have any idea how sick you are!?"

A small smile lit on Magneto's face. "I _was_ planning on dealing with Mr. Stark first, but I suppose I will have no success with that unless I address the leader of your little _…bunch…_ beforehand."

"Give them back to me," Laura hissed at him, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the bars separating them. Her face was flushed with anger. "Do you hear me? My husband will _kill_ you when he gets here, if I don't do it first—!"

She secretly held on to the hope that Natasha, who had apparently escaped during their capture (if she had survived the horrible crash!), would appear shortly to break them all out. So far, however, they'd been left in the hands of Magneto and the strange human-like creatures that accompanied him.

"I'm quite aware of your husband's abilities, or lack thereof." Magneto gave her a nod. "He got one of his little admirers killed recently during the Battle of Sokovia, am I correct?"

"Pietro. We named our _son_ after him," she exclaimed, heat rising in her face. How _dare_ this man try to shame her family! "What could you possibly want from Clint?"

"Oh, plenty," Magneto replied, rolling his eyes a little. "Honestly, you have _no_ idea. I am quite interested in his little witch friend, for one, as I remember telling Mr. Stark. And…there are a number of reasons why I would love to wring his older brother's neck." His voice trailed off as he mentioned this, a hand subconsciously trailing against the line of his collarbone where a raised, jagged scar was barely visible past the neckline of his cape.

Laura gave him a molten glare, as the older man stepped nearer to the bars that held her crying babies behind them. Clint's brother Barney—he was _dead_ , wasn't he? What could this psychopath be talking about?

"But other than using you to draw them here, I have no interest in hurting either you or your children," he continued, shaking off his absent thoughts. "Despite what I threatened before. They are actually _quite_ fascinating, your little ones," Magneto explained, continuing to watch the children. "You might not have guessed it by my somewhat threatening nature, but I am actually quite fond of young people. I once was one myself, as we all were, but unlike many I haven't forgotten what it was like. No…I have no reason to hurt your children." A thoughtful look passed over his eyes.

Cooper, ever the brave one, stepped up to the front of their cell. He still had tears staining his cheeks, but he mustered a level-sounding voice. "Don't hurt my mom, either. You can't hurt my mom, or my little sister and brother, or Auntie Nat. Don't hurt Lucky or Mr. Stark either!"

"You took Lucky away!" Lila shouted from the back of the cell, where she was huddled on the dirty floor. She clutched her squirming baby brother, who was nearly half her size, in both her arms. "Give him back! You can't take him from me!"

Nathaniel opened his mouth and let out a long squall just as she finished, as if adding his own opinion.

"Really?" Magneto raised an eyebrow in surprise at such a long rant from such small children. "And what if Mr. Stark over here was trying to hurt my brothers and sisters? What if he was trying to hurt _me_? What do you think I should do then, young Bartons?"

Cooper hesitated as Lila burst into tears.

Magneto turned to leave, but that was when he was surprised again.

"Mr. Stark won't hurt your family." Cooper's assurance forced Magneto to turn around, even as the boy's voice shook in terror. "Just ask him not to. He hurt Wanda and Dad but he didn't know he was doing wrong things. Just ask him not to!"

"Don't you hurt _nobody_ in my family!" Lila piped up, sniffling loudly as she struggled to keep the tears at bay. "You're a bad man! Not even Daddy hurt Mr. Stark and they were fighting forever!"

"Your children do have some _fire_ in their blood." Magneto appeared stunned, turning to Laura with a glimpse of admiration in his otherwise stoic expression. "My commendations to you and your husband. They seem a bit too trusting, though, don't they? Ah, the innocence of childhood…" His voice trailed off.

Laura kept her gaze fixed on him, but her voice trembled with unshed tears of anger as she spoke. "I've asked you once, and I'll ask you again—just _tell_ me what you want!"

"Two things, Mrs. Barton. I want Mr. Stark to pay for his crimes against the mutants, many of which I'm not even sure if he's even aware of yet." He scowled in Stark's direction.

"Funny thing, that," Tony growled, speaking for the first time since being shoved into his cell, "SHIELD had a few files on mutants, but that's about all I've heard of them. Care to enlighten me as to what you're planning on punishing me for?"

Magneto's frown deepened. "Honestly, Mr. Stark, did you even _read_ the Sokovia Accords that you came out so strongly in support of?"

Tony gave him a condescending glare. "I skimmed through most of it."

"The so-called Superhero Registration Act referenced in the Accords includes not only Avengers, Mr. Stark, but also 'any sentient form possessing unnatural human capabilities or extravagant resources.'"

"The intention," Tony started, frowning, "was to include anomalies, like Ultron, who don't really fit into the more specific categories of 'dangerous'."

"Thereby," Magneto added, smiling tightly, "broadening those 'specific categories' enough to include mutants of every possible description. And given that your work with Mr. Ross has been _extensive_ as of late, including aiding him in the persecution of your own fellow superheroes, forgive me if I am concerned about what Ross is preparing to do to the mutant population as well."

"Your kind are dangerous, and you know it," Tony replied cuttingly. "That incident with the Phoenix lady? That lined right up with anything the Scarlet Witch or the Hulk could do if allowed to. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say you had something to do with provoking it?"

Magneto visibly stiffened. "The affairs of the Mutant society are no concern of yours, Mr. Stark."

"Great, 'cause mine are none of yours," Tony responded snidely.

Laura glared at him. Mouthing off while they were all behind bars could get every one of them killed—she still didn't trust this man around her children, no matter how many pretty words he had to say about them.

"You _persecute_ us," Magneto hissed, taking a large step forward in Tony's direction. "You want to lock us in cages much like I have you locked away now, and for some reason you want to tell me that I am wrong and _you_ are in the right?"

"All I know is that I can't help you if I'm standing on this side of a locked jail cell. And I doubt that 'Mr. Ross' is going to want to negotiate with a guy wearing a Boba Fett helmet."

"Such well-stated intentions, coming from a man whose life is currently in my hands," Magneto replied sweetly. "However, I have no interest in negotiating with Secretary Ross or yourself. I've had quite enough of both of you and intend to show you a little of what mutant power is capable of."

"You're going to kill people," Laura broke in, gazing at him soberly. "What could you possibly accomplish by getting your revenge?"

Magneto sighed, not at all perturbed by all their questions. "In time, Mrs. Barton, I intend to accomplish much more than revenge. Right now, what I mostly need is for your husband to come and get you so that I can discuss several things with him and his little shadow. I really do not mean to frighten you, but I'm afraid there's only one way this can be done. For the next seventy-two hours, I must ask you to trust me, as much as you can under these circumstances."

Laura gazed at him in horror, as he came nearer to her cell and whispered.

"And for your sake, I advise that you do."

…

 _Present_

Secretary Ross stormed into the empty conference room, followed closely by an eerily calm Barney Barton. "The Avengers are in custody, just as you wanted," the elder man barked out, positioning himself so there was a convenient amount of furniture placed between himself and the archer. "Aren't you going to thank me?"

Barney snorted loudly. "Took you long enough. Not even Stark could bring them in—and really, whose dumb idea was that in the first place?"

"Stark is dead," Ross replied tightly. "I thought we were going to use him. Instead, he fed us false information, and now the Hulk could very well return to us with a vengeance."

Barney snarled a smile, leaning forward with both palms planted on the table in front of him. "Wait until you see the police reports. We _did_ use him."

Ross stared at him with an expression mingling shock and disgust. "I don't even want to know," he confessed at last, irritation clearly showing on his face. "Now, if you could get to work on locating your wild card of a brother, and getting him and that little Witch behind bars where they belong, I might even start to like you, Barton."

Barney laughed, smile spreading a little wider than it probably should've. "Let me be real simple," he began. "You ain't the one who gets to order me around when we're not in public, _Bro_."

Ross barely constrained his annoyance at being called 'Bro', but he managed to hold back a smart retort.

"I gave you revenge on the Hulk," Barney reminded him. "I didn't have to let you, but I said we could use that as an excuse to contact Stark."

"And now we have the publicity YOU wanted to gather support for your _project_. Remember, you still need me, Barton." Ross frowned at him coldly. "You're an incredible spy and a smart warrior, but you're no diplomat, and this requires politics."

"Politics?" Barney snarled. "Do you think _politics_ are what's been keeping me from killing you so far?"

"Are you admitting to wanting to kill me?" Ross exclaimed.

Barney smirked. "I've been working for you all this time, and every time you've tried to fire me, what's happened?"

Ross hadn't just tried to fire him; both of them knew THAT, even if they didn't mention it. Concerned that the loose cannon assassin would jeopardize various parts of his plot against the Avengers, the Secretary of State had tried other—methods—of getting rid of him as well. "Something always comes up…that I need you for!" he protested immediately, a flustered sheen of sweat appearing on his brow.

"No." Barney's voice was low and dangerous. He was smiling. "Some _one_ always comes up. Missing, or dead, or both. Little problems, ones only someone like me can take care of. Who do you think put them there in the first place?" He took another step closer.

"Surely not," Ross hissed under his breath.

"Surely yeah. Let me ask you something else. Where do you think your baby girl's gonna end up if you don't do exactly what I'm about to ask you to?"

" _My_ bab—Betty?!" Ross cried, as though the breath had just drained out of him.

"Yeah. That's right. Your sweet little Betty. The one you'd die for – the one you'd do anything to keep safe. The one whose boyfriend is about to call her in to the police and declare her 'missing'. But she ain't missing," Barney grinned. "I know exactly where she is. How many arrows are set to skewer her if she steps an inch out of bounds. How many times she cursed when I mentioned your name," he said with a laugh. "She was smarter than you," Barney continued, a falsely pleasant tone in his voice. "But she had the same downfall: She never could manage to tame the beast."

He pulled out a sharp, curved sword and drove the point, ever so delicately, into the carpet between them.

…

Dr. Katherine Hernandez, formerly Captain Hernandez of the United States Army, trusted few people.

There had been a time when she'd tried to see the good in everybody. Now, the only people she knew she could trust were her family.

And a fat lot of good they could do her now.

 _Bullets flying, and soldier's blood on her hands as she fought to keep them from dying—_

Slapping them awake. Shouting. Dragging them away from the action, through the coarse desert sand and prickly briars, holding wounds together with an arm and a leg while she struggled to get her hands on their meagre remaining supplies. Where many women would have thrown in the towel, Kay had persevered. Those men, at least, had been grateful for the way she'd chosen to dig her heels in and risk her life to save them.

The country she fought for, however, couldn't have been quicker to ignore all that. Two weeks ago, Kay had found herself questioned about an old friend and thrown into maximum security prison, _without_ trial. All she knew about Captain Rogers was the location of a scar on his chest and the fact that he was lonely and had no family to speak of. Even if she'd been willing to help her interrogators, she knew nothing.

They didn't care.

Just for being _associated_ with Steve, her rank had been stripped and her closest associates taken in for questioning.

Then, despite her being unable to give them any answers, they ended her service.

Her very _life_ was ended, it seemed.

She was going to be here a long, long time.

Kay refused, or tried not, to think about never seeing Mama or Papa or Emilio or Nani or her cousins ever again. In all honesty, she still considered herself lucky. She didn't know why. Probably, because it was the only thing she had left to hold on to.

When word of Steve's capture had come in, the rumors had spread through the prison walls like a disease. "He's killed someone," was the most popular one, for obvious reasons due to the lack of creativity.

"His powers went out of control and destroyed an entire city!" was another of the stupider ones.

Kay didn't have the patience to inform the woman from the cell three doors down that she was thinking of the Hulk.

The rumors went from wild to out-of-control when someone found out Rogers was being sent to MDC Brooklyn. He would literally be a few walls away from the female penitentiary, and that was almost too much for a few of the resident heartthrobs to handle.

It made Kay want to throw up.

Kay was a soldier. She had seen tough, hardened women before. The women of the MDC penitentiary made them look like Barbie by comparison.

Whenever a new prisoner was brought in, and the rest of the women ran out to leer and catcall and hurtle insults and soiled toilet paper down at whoever-it-was who would soon be either hospitalized or one of the pack, she no longer stood up like the soldier she'd once been. She sat in her cell and tuned out the noise, holding onto her one or two remaining scraps of peace in this dumpsite she'd been condemned to for life.

Today's new prisoner was just the next in a long line of future inmates she couldn't care less about.

"****ing traitor!"

Outside, she could hear the rioting and shouting as a crowd began to gather, and she rolled her eyes, considering whether she should make plugs out of toilet paper for her ears.

"You little slut! Steve Rogers' ****!"

Wait.

"**** you, little girl!"

Had she really heard them say 'Steve Rogers'?

Kay pulled herself to her feet and ambled outside, shoving members of the crowd roughly aside to make her way to where she could see. There were never this many gathered for the average prisoner, and they never made this big of a fuss, even if there was nothing better to do around here.

She glanced left and right, taking in the expressions on the women's faces as they shouted every insult they could think of, and a few they hadn't put much thought into at all.

These women weren't just angry. They were _always_ angry. And this time, they were here for a show.

She had to grab someone by the hair and shove her way through in time to catch a glimpse of the prisoner being shoved in her cell before the rest crowded out her view.

Blonde hair, a medium frame; what was so special about this new kid?

Kay allowed the other women to push her back, melting into the crowd before slinking back into her cell. She determined to go by the other woman's cell as soon as it wouldn't attract too much attention.

As much as her trust in Rogers had waned with each interrogation session she'd endured, Kay was still in this pit because of something he'd done.

Whoever this new girl was, the two of them needed to have a talk.

Later that week, when the excitement among the other inmates had died down and the new girl's utterly silent, unrevealing demeanor had bored them all out of their initial interest, Kay slipped her lunch tray down next to the blonde and ventured to make a brief eye contact.

The blonde pretended she didn't notice, continuing to eat despite every muscle in her torso being tensed and alert.

Kay snorted quietly and took a large bite of her canned greens, almost successfully ignoring the flavor of metal and cheap salt. "So what're you in here for?" she began casually, staring down at her food.

The blonde shifted in her seat, carefully chewing and swallowing before she gave her answer. "Does it matter?"

"It does if you're a friend of Steve Rogers," Kay informed her, eyeing her potato and deciding she would go ahead and eat the skin along with the insides. She took a bite, not caring if she was speaking with her mouth full. "He's the one who got me put in this dump. Don't worry," she assured, as the blonde looked up at her warily. "I'm not gonna stab you with my fork."

The blonde watched her for another long moment before deciding it wouldn't be too dangerous to continue her lunch, and began cutting her potato with the edge of her fork. "What do you want from me?" she asked softly.

Kay got the feeling that the soft-spoken, gentle mannerisms of this woman were only a guise for an iron will and perhaps a wicked right hook. She shoved her tray aside, leaning one elbow over the table and facing the blonde upfront. "I don't know why I'm in prison," she explained carefully. "I got pulled from my Army position along with my teammates, interrogated, and shoved in here because, once upon a time, I saved Steve Rogers' life. I was _fourteen_ when I did that _._ Now, they expect me to know something about his disappearance, and I _don't._ "

The blonde looked up at her in surprise. "That shouldn't have warranted you a prison sentence," she protested.

"Well, I don't disagree with you, but here I am." Kay shrugged.

"I'm sorry you got pulled into this," the other woman continued, her initial reaction pulled back into the usual, stoic mask of disinterest. "Someone has a bone to pick with the Avengers, and they apparently thought they could extend the blame to you and get away with it."

"Yeah, well," Kay tried to hide her frustration as well as this woman seemed to hide ALL her emotions, " _will_ they?"

"If you have an outside advocate, maybe they can appeal to the law on your behalf."

"I thought that was what my lawyer was for, but it wasn't enough. I need someone higher up, or I'm going to be stuck here forever."

The blonde met her gaze once more, cold honesty shining through her steel-blue eyes. "There IS no one higher up," she stated with the air of a woman who knew everything there was to know about their situation. "If there was, they'd be getting both of us out right now. But there isn't. You have to accept that."

"I'm not going to," Kay informed her, her tone flat.

A thin hint of a smile formed at the edge of the woman's mouth. "What'd you say your name was?"

"Kay Hernandez." She refused to smile or shake hands.

"Sharon Carter," the blonde introduced herself. Her lips curled up in amusement. "Steve says 'hi'."


	23. Inhumanity

**A MONTH!? Oh my, I'm so sorry, guys. It's been a crazy month though, with graduations and family in town, so there you go.**

 **Huge thanks to all the hard work 'Black' Victor Cachat and Zarannya put into this chapter to make it what it is! I hope you all enjoy it :D**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Me too! Haha I'm sure that with all the friends they have out there, something will come to their rescue :D**

 **'Black' Victor Cachat: Glad you liked the extension :D You will notice this chapter is a lot shorter than the one I sent you :P I think the next chapter will be a flashback one to explain some things before Nat comes in. Thanks for all your amazing help!**

 **Donlaeta: Next chapter, we find out what happened to Tony! :D I'm so glad you've been enjoying the story! Yes, Barney is a dirty player, for sure.**

 **gandalf537: Glad you liked the cliffhanger ;D Unfortunately they seem to be becoming a habit, lol. Thanks so much for your review!**

 **brandibuckeye: Oh snap is right! Hahaha. Yes, Sharon is still around :D Hopefully at some point she gets a scene that really does her justice. She's a fantastic character to hang out in the background, being the excellent spy that she is.**

 **rose7anne101: Glad you liked it and thank you again for your amazing reviews! :D Loved your point about Ross not actually being diplomatic, haha. Sooooo true, the little hypocrite that he is! Kay is my OC...you don't necessarily have to read her story, though. Basically all my readers from this story need to know is that she and Steve are friends. Do you think Ross is out of character? I feel like you're right, he is acting weird and it's not just because of Barney's threat. Ross is tricky for me, I guess :P**

 **...**

Chapter 23: Inhumanity

 _Bedford-Stuyvesant, New York City._

 _2006._

 _3:00 A.M._

A baby's cry interrupted Clint's attempts to sleep in after his latest mission for SHIELD.

Beside him, Laura groaned and started to get up, but he rolled over and stopped her with a kiss on her temple. "I'll get him," he mumbled, crawling out of bed still half-asleep.

At least Baby Cooper was at least in the same room, so there would be one less potentially hazardous trip across the baby-toy-laden apartment floor for early morning feedings.

Cooper fussed when Clint picked him up, still unused to Daddy being caregiver as Clint was absent most of the time, including the past three weeks. "Hey, sh-hh," Clint whispered to him. "Let Mamma sleep. C'mon, I'm not that scary, am I?"

Taking him out of the room, Clint went to the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle, waving it in front of his son's face before turning on the stove to warm it up.

"Honestly, I think I'm doing pretty good, all things considered."

After heating up the milk, he settled on the sofa, ignoring the ripped-up corners courtesy of their last dog (who hadn't been too fond of babies and was therefore now a member of a different household), Cooper finally quieted when he tasted the warmed milk, drinking it hungrily.

Yes, as difficult as it had been to turn Barney away, things were better now. Cooper was safe; Laura was safe. Kate, his protégé (who despite being a rich daddy's girl kept insisting on calling herself 'Hawkeye'), had taken over running the apartment complex whenever he was away on missions. Now all Clint had to worry about was the occasional stereotypical gang trying to tear up the streets outside, not the unpredictable psychopathic assassin that was his older brother, disrupting the peace of his happy home.

They'd considered moving away. Someplace safer; somewhere more off-grid. For now, however, Laura preferred maintaining contact with her family and friends in the city, and Clint honestly felt safer in territory he knew inside and out. Hawkeye and _other_ Hawkeye (Kate) had defeated the Tracksuit Mafia. At least for now, no one dared defy the sharpshooting pair as King and Queen of the streets.

Yep, things had never been better. Clint grinned a little at the baby, _his_ baby, who had settled down and almost seemed as happy to be with him as he was when Laura held him. He may have screwed a lot of things up in his life, but this, at least, was something he could always be proud of. He'd done the right thing.

He stifled a yawn as the minutes dragged on, eventually shifting to the other side of the sofa and grabbing the TV remote before switching it onto the news channel. Hopefully the reports of his and Kate's latest 'vigilante' episode from before his last mission had finally begun to die down.

" _Last night's reports on the explosion at MDC Brooklyn confirm a current total of sixty-five casualties, mostly of prisoners but including three prison guards, with dozens more among the wounded. Experts are offering an undetected gas leak as the most probable explanation for this tragedy…"_

Clint dropped the bottle he was holding for Cooper as he stared at the screen in shock, his mind whirling and trying to connect the dots for what he was seeing. Snatching up the bottle from the floor, he clutched his son to his chest as he ran into the kitchen, juggling the corded phone with the other things he was holding as he dialed the number for the prison. "Hey, this is Clint Barton—my brother was incarcerated in MDC—is there any word on him?"

"Yes, Sir. Can I have a name?"

"Ah—" Clint swallowed. "Um, yeah. It's Bar—Charles Bernard Barton." He shifted Cooper in his arms, struggling to try and feed him to keep him somewhat quiet while he listened to what the operator was saying.

"Sir, I am so sorry. Most of the families were informed yesterday. Your brother is listed as one of the fatalities from the explosion. You can contact Calvary Hospital for more information, as that's where most of the casualties were taken. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss."

Clint didn't remember if he called Laura's name or not, but suddenly—or maybe it was hours later—she was there by his side, untangling his fingers from the handle of the phone. Her gentle hands lifted Cooper, who by this point was squalling uncontrollably, out of his grasp. "Honey?" she exclaimed worriedly. "Baby, what happened?"

Clint barely felt the touch of her fingers on his arm, or heard Cooper's angry screams echoing through the apartment walls. "It was my fault," he whispered hoarsely.

…

 _X Mansion_

 _Present Day_

"What are we going to do?" Wanda exclaimed tremulously, her eyes glued to the television in her room as Channel 5 continued to play the story, flashing various images of Stark's most recent public appearances and those of Iron Man up onto the screen.

The actual crime scene photos were gruesome. They had found him lying face-down in the middle of the forest, with three projectile wounds in his back that had penetrated his internal organs and caused the initial kill. Multiple third-degree burns were spread across the wounds, preventing the actual weapon, or its origin, from behind identified. The reports also mentioned unidentified toxins found in his blood. Whoever had done the job was certainly thorough, leaving zero doubt in Wanda's mind that someone with Laura's experience could _not_ have been the killer. A self-defense kill, even by the wife of an expert assassin, would have looked much different.

The news spoke of the 'mystery woman' being found wandering in the forest less than two miles from the body, with blood on her clothes and a lighter concealed on her person, despite her persistent claims of innocence. There was no indication as to how either victim or suspect found themselves so far from civilization, aside from the anonymous tip from a 'hiker' that there was a body lying in the middle of the woods.

Clint, meanwhile, leaned over the edge of the sofa where the newspaper he'd first read the information from lay angled in his direction. His sharp blue eyes snapped up to Wanda's head. "We're going to break her out," he stated with conviction.

Pietro zipped past and came to a halt beside them both. "Who is the woman that killed him?" he asked concernedly, looking back and forth between both Wanda and Clint.

Wanda looked to Clint for a nod of confirmation before she told him. "She is Clint's wife," she explained to her brother. "And she did NOT kill Tony Stark." Whipping her head around, she faced Clint with a conviction that matched his own. "When do we leave?"

"Are you up for it?" Clint asked her, the edge of concern in his voice over her condition barely noticeable but still there.

"For a jailbreak? Always," Wanda assured him with a nod.

"You know," Pietro interjected, "for a prison break, you could probably use someone who can get in and out of places very quickly."

He shrugged as Clint and Wanda exchanged a glance at his suggestion. "Just saying."

"This is illegal," Wanda protested, a worried frown creasing her brow. "Clint and I are already fugitives. The last thing you need is to become one with us."

Pietro looked to Clint next. The older archer, being far more worried about his wife in prison than he was about the speedster who could get in and out of the prison in seconds, wore a cautious but determined expression. "You got a suit?" he asked, with only a slight hesitation.

Pietro smirked. "It's cute that you think I might _not_."

"Suit up, then."

Just as they were finishing their conversation, Professor Xavier wheeled into the room with Logan right behind him. "Cerebro enabled us to locate the exact position where your wife is being held," the professor informed Clint, along with the rest of the group.

Pietro gave him a funny look. "I thought you could only use the computer to trace other mutants."

"Yes…" Xavier frowned uncomfortably. "Magneto's allied mutants are near the town mentioned in the news story. Magneto believes that mutants are the ultimate replacement for humans in this world, and he would not hesitate to kill someone like Tony Stark, who took such an active role in enacting the Accords. What he's done with your children remains a mystery, one we should try to uncover before making any sudden moves." His gaze rested pointedly on Clint.

"You think it's a trap?" Wanda asked, surprised.

"If it is, I'd rather be in it than out of it while he's got my family with him," Clint declared hotly. "Laura's name was wiped off official records years ago. If law enforcement has any time to start digging, we're going to be in trouble."

"Magneto is someone we should certainly confront, but not without more information," Xavier insisted. "He wants our attention; now he has it. You haven't known this man for decades like I have, Clint. He's trying to distract you. He and I been fighting off and on for many years, and he knows far too much about our resources for us to walk blindly into a situation under his control."

"You must have some idea why this guy would try to take my family," Clint frowned darkly. "He's not one of MY enemies."

"No," Xavier replied slowly. "But you have something he wants." He turned, everyone in the room following his gaze until it came to rest—on Wanda.

…

"I'm sorry we have to do this," War Machine expressed, as several armed guards escorted Sam and Fury into their respective cells. Sharon had been sent to the woman's penitentiary. Steve had been taken to receive medical care for his bullet wound, awaiting transfer to the Raft.

At least, that was the theory. From what Sam had overheard, the prison management was receiving mixed signals from the justice department. He could only imagine how many politicians wanted a say in the fate of someone like the Captain.

"Yeah, you look like you're in tears," Sam bit out, avoiding his former teammate's gaze, which was difficult to do as War Machine, despite not being in full armor, was making clanking sounds with every step they took together.

"We _were_ looking for Tony." Rhodey shrugged his bulky shoulders. "I can't say I was expecting things to work out this way. But letting you go free would have been treason on my part."

"Oh, yeah, arresting Captain _America_ of all people," the ex-Avenger replied sarcastically. "I can really see the 'Iron Patriot' shining through. What next? Lock up the Statue of Liberty for subversive views?"

A regretful shadow cross Rhodey's face as he looked away, knowing there was nothing more he could say that would cause Wilson to see things from his point of view.

The guards shoved both Sam and Fury in a cell together, which was just _perfect,_ Sam figured. At least they had plenty of things they needed to talk about.

As soon as the guards and Rhodey had left, he stretched his legs out in front of him on one of the low, hard prison cots and purposefully avoided staring at his cellmate. "This is not exactly the kind of bonding exercise I always pictured when I thought of my dad as a kid," he remarked irritably.

Fury, who wisely had avoided speaking while there were guards present, merely smirked and rolled his eyes, doing the same on his side of the tiny cell.

"So do you talk first, or do I talk first?" Sam exclaimed. "Because I'm pretty sure you already know all the questions I'm going to ask you."

"Starting with 'what the Hell is going to happen to my mom'?" Fury chuckled lowly, tucking his hands behind his bald head. He shifted and met Sam's gaze with his good eye. "She'll be fine. We lived there for years and we installed plenty of those safety features there together. I'm surprised you don't remember," he added curiously.

"Yeah, me too," Sam huffed, disguising his relief with a frown. "Seems like I'd remember my dad having only one eye."

"If I'd _had_ only one eye at the time, instead of two, you probably would have."

"How'd those guys get past Clint's security? I thought you said there was an alarm system set up around the perimeter."

"That man who was with them knows more about Clint than anyone," Fury admitted slowly. "Charles Bernard Barton. Clint's older brother."

"Clint's _brother?_ So he knows where Mom is?" Sam's head shot up, eyes burning holes in Fury's direction.

"He has _no_ way of knowing where your mother is," Fury protested. "Clint knows not to trust me anymore, but I know better than to NOT trust him. He reported to me recently he's heard nothing from Barney since what we thought to be his death. Leave it to Hawkeye to get suspicious ten years later," he shook his head. "Although, I'm the one who brought Coulson back, so I guess I'm to blame for that. Barney hasn't been to the Farm in over a decade, if ever. And if he had, he would have no way of knowing the location of a tunnel that existed fifty years before Clint ever moved there."

"Where's the tunnel lead to?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Oh, come on," Sam grumbled. "We're stuck in a cell together, probably for the rest of our lives, and you're making murder jokes? What _happened_ to my mom?!"

"That tunnel," Fury explained, dramatically drawing out his answer, "was used in the fifties and sixties to hide the creatures who called themselves 'Inhumans'. That's when the farmhouse was built. SHIELD personnel had several encounters with people who had superhuman abilities and Director Carter commissioned an off-books location to be built that not even SHIELD carried a record of. If they were peaceable, Inhumans and their families could be taken to the farmhouse for safety from persecution and to protect their identities. Eventually, the place was abandoned, but underneath, there's an old mutant research lab where several key discoveries were made about the origins of positive mutations. That information is top-secret, so it's protected by a maze of tunnels that lead to a small handful of escape points, any of which your mother could have chosen."

"I hope she at least has a map," was all Sam could think of to say.

Fury smirked. "Better than that. She knows those tunnels like the back of her own hand. She was born down in that hole," he revealed. "Her own mother was Inhuman."

Sam bolted up, speechless for a moment. "Wait." He held up one finger in the air, trying not to smile but finding himself unsuccessful in the attempt. "Does that mean— _I_ have powers?"


	24. Dramatic Entrances

6

 **A/N: Happy July Everyone! Thank you all for sticking with me through the summer months! Here you will finally begin to find out what's been happening to Tony all this time…and the rest of the Barton clan…hope y'all enjoy!**

 **Thanks to 'Black' Victor Cachat and Zarannya for being my ever-faithful betas :D Y'all are the best.**

 **DarylDixon'sLover: Here! Sort of, haha. I know, it's starting to get a bit long. Things will be picking up starting in this chapter, though. Thanks for your review and for sticking with me!**

 **AgentofLegends27: Yay! :D Oh, and there are so many to come *laughs evilly*. Soooo glad you are enjoying it!**

' **Black' Victor Cachat: Aww, you don't like this picture? D: I may change it back…you're right, it doesn't really showcase what the story's about; I just liked the art ;D Glad you liked how stuff with Kate worked out. Oh, and thanks for reviewing on my 4'th of July story too! :D I did notice all the ou's in your spelling were bothering my American spellcheck, lol.**

 **Gandalf537: Sorry you keep having to wait so long! D: I mean to go faster, but the deeper I get into this story the more time it seems I need to figure out what I'm doing and send it back and forth to my betas, haha. Love that you're still enjoying this! Thanks for being such an awesome reader :D**

 **Rose7anne101: You MAY, and I emphasize MAY, change your mind about Barney in this chapter ;D I can't wait to hear what your thoughts are! Hahaha, that stinks having to write about characters you hate! Thank you sooooo much for your review and your support! :D You are awesome!**

 **Donlaeta: Yessss! At least one, if not more, epic jailbreaks coming soon! :D :D :D Oh, that's a good idea for Sam! So glad you are enjoying, and thanks sooooo much for the review!**

 **HuffleclawRavenpuff: I agree and I am sooo glad you like it! :D Hope you enjoy this next chapter. If you have any ideas for the story or for my 4'th of July one, shoot me a PM! Thank you so much for your reviews and support, mah dear! It means a lot to have enthusiastic readers like you :D**

 **Onwards and upwards…**

...

Chapter 24: Dramatic Entrances

 _Avengers Tower_

 _Two months following the Battle of Sokovia_

"…But after Ultron, I did what I could! I tried to make amends! Pepper, I gave everything that I had to make sure this team was safe, and it backfired. People died, and I'm sorry, but I can't live with the guilt of that. I can't live with myself, knowing _…thinking…_ that it was my fault and no one else was to blame!"

"You caused a worldwide disaster! Four hundred people, Tony!" Pepper's voice pleaded with him to _get it._ "Four hundred people died yesterday, and you can't see what's wrong with that, that _thing_ you made that destroyed everything?"

"I didn't try to destroy them!" he shouted back.

Pepper clasped a hand over her mouth, struggling back tears.

She tried several times to speak, failing, as Tony paced up and down the aisles of his lab, grabbing random things and hurling them at the ground as he did so.

"I'm sorry," she choked out at last. "This isn't what I planned for us. This isn't how I saw _us_ working out." She heaved a huge, shaking breath. "We were going to make the world a better place. _Together_. And maybe we could still deal with this just like last time, but…Tony, my mom is _dying_ and I can't be with you and my family all at the same time. It's just…I know I'm saying some horrible things right now, but you did a really horrible thing and I just—"

"So I'm not your family? We're separate entities? Is that it?"

She heaved a sob, lifting her eyes to meet Tony's as he looked up pleadingly from his desk. "I need some time off. I just need some time. I need a break. Just...from _us_."

"From me," Tony corrected, a spark of anger in his eyes.

"From you. Whatever," Pepper pleaded, her voice about to fail her. She had to take several large breaths before continuing. "I just—let's put this on hold, okay? Because I cannot deal with the mess that is _you_ right now. I'm sorry."

…

Tony's funeral was as flamboyant and public as the man himself had been.

They held the ceremony outdoors in order to accommodate the huge number of people who flocked to see him laid to rest: those who saw him as an engineering genius, others as an extension of Howard Stark, some as a madman and a killer, and still more as the iconic hero Iron Man.

"I can't do this," Pepper gasped, leaning in toward Rhodey's ear as the minister finished his brief speech. "I don't know how I thought I was okay to do this, I—"

"Hey, it's okay," Rhodey replied grimly, placing a gentle arm around her shoulders. He had heard the news as soon as he came back from delivering his ex-teammates to their cells. Pepper had flown in to meet him and they'd stayed by each other's side ever since. "I—if you need me to, I can go up there and say something—"

She sniffed loudly, shaking herself to rights as she finished drying her eyes on a well-worn tissue. "No, it's okay," she managed, clearing her throat. "I'm…I'm going to do it."

Pepper took the stage and gazed numbly out at the audience.

Oh, God, there were so many people. That didn't usually bother her, but they were all here to pay respect to Tony, and it just—

Forcing a deep breath in, she steadied herself against the podium. "If any of you are anything like me right now," she began shakily, "you must feel very short-sighted. Many of us looked to Tony as a man who had a lot of potential. As the Iron Man, as an inventor, and as just plain old Tony—" her voice broke and she had to stop to wipe her eyes again before continuing. "Some of us saw him as who we wanted him to be, instead of who he actually was. And the truth is, who he _was_ , was a pretty damn incredible guy who did a lot of pretty damn incredible things we have to be thankful for."

The seating area was silent, crowds of mourners all somberly looking downcast or up to her.

In the third row of seats, Peter Parker sat inconspicuously beside his aunt and several other students whose research Tony had sponsored. Pepper could tell, even from so far away, that the teen's face looked like his whole world had just ended.

In the front row, Rhodes stared up at her with unwavering sincerity and grief in his dark eyes, and Happy held hands with his wife and daughters, the four of them wiping away ever-flowing streams of tears.

"Tony was always larger than life," Pepper continued fondly, taking a deep breath. "I know many of you are thinking what I did when the FBI showed up at my door: How can a man like _Tony Stark_ possibly be dead? But even though he seemed invincible at times, Tony was—"

"Let's just think about that for a second," an incredibly familiar voice came from her left, just behind her shoulder. "The way I see it, there's only, say, two—or _three_ —possibilities?"

The entire audience froze along with Pepper, whose mouth fell slightly open as Tony himself slipped behind the podium beside her, one arm easily coming to rest at her hip, facing the crowd of mourners without the slightest hint of awkwardness. "Either my awesome luck finally ran out," he suggested, his tone entirely casual, "someone was pissed at me and forgot about the amazing ransom they could get if they let me out to go back to my toys and give them an explode-y slice of revenge, or maybe the FBI are a bunch of liars and—"

Pepper let out a sound somewhere between a strangled cough and a scream, hitting him in the shoulder with both fists and stumbling back on her tall black heels.

Tony stared at her in blank surprise. "Pepper, what are you doing? I'm trying to make an important public statement here—"

"I'm giving a speech about _you_!" she exclaimed, her voice high and almost inaudibly squeaky. "Because you're _dead_!"

Tony held out both arms. "How can I be dead? I'm right here!"

"But you _are!_ "

"But—I'm talking to you right now!"

"Tony—"

"I thought you'd be a little more excited about me being alive—I mean, you did just say a lot of really nice things about me. Thank you for that, by the way."

From down below, calling on every ounce of military training he had, Rhodey ignored the feeling of being punched in the gut and wheeled himself forward, calling out to be heard above the sudden loud murmurings and exclamations rising from the crowd. "Can everyone—okay, if I could have your attention, please—! Can everyone turn off your cell phones and cameras—Peter, are you using _Snapchat_!?"

Peter bolted upright guiltily, as his aunt slapped him on the arm with a shocked expression. "No," he protested, pocketing his phone.

"Well, whatever it is, turn it off!"

Meanwhile, the scene continued onstage.

"You must really hate me." Pepper was inconsolably in tears, taking two or three steps in one direction on the stage and turning around whenever Tony attempted to move with her. "No, don't say anything. I think that you actually do hate me. And you had better not be some kind of sick joke! Tony Stark, you had _better_ not be a robot!"

"Are you actually implying you think I could build a robot sophisticated enough to…to…you know what, I take that back. I probably could build one sophistica—"

"You pretended you were dead!" Pepper shouted.

" _I_ didn't. I was backed in a corner, Pep—"

"…and now you're treating it like a _publicity stunt?_ Do you not care that I just lost my mom and now you are _mocking_ my bereavement…"

Tony winced at her accusation. "You know, I realize it's probably been difficult, what with my being kidnapped and all…"

"You have been kidnapped before! This is about you DYING!"

"Well, I was about to explain, but you interrupted my speech—"

" _My_ speech," Pepper retorted angrily, just as Happy came running up the stage behind Tony and completely freaked him out by bear-hugging him from behind.

"—Which was _supposed_ to be a platform for helping us catch the bad guys, and then _somebody_ said 'turn off the news cameras'!" Tony shouted down toward Rhodey, who glowered up at him.

"Unless you have a suit that can take me up there to join this little reunion party, you'd better get your ass down those stairs in five seconds or less!" the Colonel called up at them, ignoring how Pepper was trying not to look like she was pulling her hair out and how Tony was trying frantically to push Happy's tearful, overjoyed self out of his bubble.

Distractedly, Tony moved to obey his command, only to almost walk right into Pepper who was flushed and red with hysterics. "Okay, look; Rhodey's going to kill me in three, so you need to calm down, and…"

"You sound like you're coaching me out of a panic attack, and that is definitely _not_ what is happening here," she gasped shallowly, her voice trembling and breathy. "This is a perfectly reasonable response to the guy you're dating—"

" _Were_ dating…" Tony was still trying to find a way around her, but was unsuccessful as Pepper in heels was an intimidating figure, even when she looked like she was about to faint.

" _Were_ dating—being an absolute moron and having no respect whatsoever for anyone's feelings—have you ever considered the fact that not _all_ of us are just holed up in a lab all day, or in an Iron Man suit, pretending we don't care about any of the things or people that are around us?!"

Completely out of breath, Pepper stumbled backward at the end of that sentence and Happy leaped forward from behind Tony to catch her.

"Oh, my God, that's embarrassing," she moaned from the floor as Tony stood frozen in shock, not knowing what to do. "And you wanted the news cameras on for THAT?!"

"Don't worry," Tony reassured, however belatedly. "I'll explain _everything_."

…

 _Thirty-six hours earlier…_

"Is he gone?" Tony was the first to speak after Magneto and his goons left them alone in their stone-walled dungeon. "Kids?" He craned his neck against the unyielding bars. "Can you see him? Coop? Is he still in earshot?"

There was no answer from the other cell; the kids were so overwhelmed from their sudden kidnapping that they were scared speechless, huddled against their cell door in each other's arms.

"Cooper? Honey?" Laura's voice trembled a little, but held mostly steady, as she leaned down so they could hear her better. "I know you're scared, and that's okay, but Mr. Stark needs to know if you can still see the man in the metal hat."

Something between a sob and a sniffle came from the next cell down, and Cooper's tear-choked voice, "He's gone, Mom. I can't see him."

"Good. Everyone chill out—I have a plan."

"Can you pick the lock?" Laura exclaimed.

"Um. Not exactly. But I can get my suit working again if we can get to it."

"You couldn't get it working before," she reminded him.

"I could, actually," Tony muttered. "I might've secretly wanted you to kidnap me. My life kind of sucks right now, if you hadn't noticed."

"I had."

"Anyway, the point is, I have _no_ idea how we're going to get out of these cells, but if we do, the escape plan's down easy."

"So you have _half_ of an escape plan," Laura sounded disappointed.

"Hey, I have my half. You're the wife of a super-assassin. If anyone knew how to pick locks, I thought it'd be you."

"I know how to throw a punch! I don't know the first thing about picking locks, Tony!"

A beat.

"So we're stuck here?"

"I guess so!"

A moment later, Lila finally spoke up. "Mommy? What's that sound?"

All of them tensed as the sound of yelling and gunfire echoed through the walls, unintelligible but there nonetheless.

For a long moment, there was silence as they all kept their ears open, waiting to see what was going on.

An all-too familiar sound then pierced the air, as a thin object whistled through the air and struck dead-center on the lock that held the three kids in their cell, causing it to spark and smoke before harmlessly allowing the door to swing open.

All of them stared, agape, at a slightly singed arrow sticking out of the lock.

"Daddy!" Nate jumped up, grinning through his tear-stained, chubby face. He pointed to the arrow. _"Daddy!"_

…

 **OMG what did you guys think!? I seriously am so excited to hear! I meant to make this a longer chapter—sorry about that. Next one is coming soon! :D**


	25. The Dreaded Author's Note

The Dreaded Author's Note...

Hi, All! Sorry about the lack of updates ): I have several chapters in-progress that I still intend on finishing up (watch it happen next week after I've posted this :P ) but I've been in the process of helping my parents move, moving myself to Galveston for graduate school, settling in, driving back chased by a big mean hurricane, and waiting out said hurricane while helping my parents move _again_. XD

So for the next few months, I am putting this story on hiatus )': It makes me super sad but I want you all to know what to expect. In the meantime, keep being your amazing selves :D and doing all the exciting reading/writing/reviewing you normally do on this site.

Until then, my dears!

~Marina


	26. Breaking Loose

**A/N: Wheeee! I'm back! I'm probably three times as happy about this as anyone else, lol. How have y'all been? Any news? Any stuff going on? I'd love to PM with you guys if anyone's interested!**

 **Anyway, I hope y'all love the new chapter. I realized near the end that maybe I was making Sam kind of a jerk…NOT the intention, I just adore his sarcastic self haha. Let me know if y'all thought it was too much or not.**

 **This one is unbeta-ed 'cause this happened very spontaneously this morning. I will talk to my betas and the next few chapters should see a definite improvement in that respect! Review responses will also be back next chapter :D**

 **And adventure awaits…**

Chapter 25: Breaking Loose

The archer looked down, the side of his face curling up in a smile as he nudged the bodies of the frog-man and Cyclops with his boot.

Two more mutants dead.

The world was looking brighter already.

He continued to edge forward, hoping he'd get to put a few more down before getting Clint's brats out of this dungeon.

Rounding the corner, he found exactly what he'd thought: Three cells, side-by-side, the kids in one and their mom in another. Tony Stark, unsurprisingly, was in the third and farthest away, and the kids had already gotten to their feet after he'd shot that arrow in their direction to pop the lock, and tumbled out in order of size—smallest first, the middle one with the braids next, and a taller kid who reminded him most of Clint last of all.

The first one coming toddling out with wide eyes and round cheeks, reeking of an unchanged diaper, reminded him of another kid he'd failed to protect—one he thought about in his dreams far too often.

Wordlessly as the kid stopped and stared at him, realizing in shock that he wasn't their dad, Barney picked up his bow and aimed at the lock on the second cell this time, popping it instantly.

'CLANG!'

The mom, hair flying wildly as she let out a breathy gasp, flung the iron door open and descended on her children, gathering all three of them in her arms at once.

The archer surveyed the sappy little family scene for a moment, standing a respectful distance away as the children seemed to all three burst into tears at once. He turned his head away when he heard his name.

"Barney?"

The woman looked up at him from behind her babies' heads, a look of astonishment plastered across her face.

He scoffed in admiration, a small smile working its way up one side of his mouth. "How'd you know?"

"Pictures," she shook her head in disbelief.

"Heh! Yeah, me, too. You're Laura."

The smile dropped from her face. "How did you find that out?"

"FBI," he smirked. "We know a few things we're not supposed to."

"Who else knows?" Her grip became a little tighter on the little ones, as her voice took on hardened edge.

He gave her a condescending look. "Relax, sweetheart. I'm gonna get you where Clint can find you and then I'm off."

She stared after him as he turned on his heel and marched up to the third cell, where the face of Mr. Stark himself was giving him an extremely pissed-off expression from behind the bars. "You already figured out that I'm leaving you here, didn't you?" he growled with a smile.

"You know, if you're going to kill me instead of saving me, can we maybe duke it out someplace else?" Tony had no idea who this man was, but he had plenty of practice with unblinking stares. "I'd offer you a drink but I think the minifridge was made in 1965."

"You're the one that roped my brother into this 'Avengers Initiative', ain't you?"

"In my defense, aliens were raining from the sky," Tony growled. "Also, Cap technically was the one who roped him in. _Twice._ "

A small smile appeared on Barney's face. "Thing is," he said, so softly that Laura and the little ones couldn't hear him, "The superpowered, the almighty; the _Inhumans_ —can't be registered in some paperback set of Accords. They can't even be placed on a map. They're a _plague_. And this world isn't safe until _every last one of them_ is rotting in the ground."

Tony's eyes met his, a silent understanding coming between the two as Tony realized the intent of the man he was talking to.

"Kill a few more of them when they come for you, eh? It would be pretty great for me if you killed each other off while I was gone."

"Barney, let him out," Laura's voice was hard behind him.

Barney turned, allowing her to speak.

"He's like family," she insisted.

A shadow of mixed emotions crossed Barney's face when she said that, and if Laura's expression was any indication, she realized her mistake as soon as she'd made it.

"Really?" he answered, as if he really hadn't wanted to know. "Since when did letting dangerous people out of jail because they're 'family' become a thing for you, or Clint, _Laura_?"

…

"Well, that wasn't exactly who I thought would get here first but I suppose he'll have to do," Magneto sighed, adjusting his cape as he and Mystique surveyed their security screens, watching the scene taking place in the dungeon.

She turned and looked up at him with her wide eyes. "We should attack quickly, before any of them escape," she advised.

"Agreed," the helmeted leader replied. "You go after the children. I want them unharmed. Mr. Barton, however, is mine to execute for his crimes, as is Mr. Stark. Although, given how much they appear to hate each other, I may just stick them in the same cell and wait for nature to run its course. It might be amusing," he sighed, moving to exit the room.

…

"I'll let you go," Barney pivoted slowly back in Tony's direction, "on one condition. If you tell me no, I'll kill you here and now."

"You've got to be kidding," Tony started.

"Just listen to him, Tony," Laura snapped.

"Magneto is both of our enemy," the archer continued, taking a step closer to the billionaire's cell. "He will assemble all his forces to stop you from enacting the Registration. If you want out of this cell, you have to do something for me." He pulled out a smartphone from his pocket, and tossed it through the bars, where Tony caught it. "I have a hacker friend in the FBI. And Ross gave me access to a few cool toys. We've worked out every algorithm we could on our end, and performed all the background programming. We just need you to crack the failsafe you created, and hand over your tech. To me."

Tony stared the agent in front of him down evenly. "Laura," he called out. "Kids, I'm gonna need you to bring me my suit, like we talked about."

"Did I mention," Barney arched an eyebrow, "the suit's configurations are one of the algorithms we hacked. You'll be handing over your suit to me along with everything else at Stark Industries."

"Alright," Tony shrugged, as Laura pulled the three kids out of the room, running them down the hall and as far away from the dungeon as possible, "so you'll have Stark Industries, the FBI, and the American government all under your thumb. Does 'Dictator of the World' send thrills or chills down your spine? Because that's what you're going for."

"You don't need to know what I'm going for," Barney smiled menacingly. "You know how I know that? 'Cause you're not just the great individual Tony Stark with all the money and the great big house anymore, are you?"

"I built a new house," Tony corrected him smugly.

"Do you care about the house, Mr. Stark? Is it the house that makes you want to stay alive today? Or is it your precious Pepper?"

Tony had practice with people threatening Pepper, too, so Barney kept going.

"Or is it Peter Parker's aunt now? I couldn't quite tell, even after I managed to figure out that Peter was the guy in the spider suit that attacked me in New York. Cute kid—would be a shame if someone outed him."

This, Tony had NOT practiced for.

"How am I supposed to stop you if I give you my tech?" Tony's voice dropped to the most sober of tones after hearing all of Barney's threats.

"You won't need to, Sparky." Barney grinned down at him. "Once I have your tech, I'm outta your hair. Busy man, you know. Saving the world singlehandedly's a stressful job, as I'm sure you're aware. Provided you don't take any actions even remotely designed to hurt my brother _ever_ again."

Tony's eyes remained fixed on the screen, "Get your facts right if you're gonna insult me. The last time I saw Clint, he dumped a parking garage on my head."

Barney leaned in closer, his foul breath ghosting uncomfortably close to Tony's face. "You're lying." His eyes glinted mercilessly. "I know about the Raft, Mr. Stark. The last time you saw my brother, you were mocking him from inside a prison cell that should've contained a mutant."

Tony finally looked up at him, his eyes sobering.

A corner of Barney's mouth twitched. "Next time you go anywhere near him, you won't have something like _this_ ," he gestured to the phone, "as an out."

…

" _Sure_ , you have super powers," Fury kept his face completely straight when answering Sam's question. "You mean you've lived thirty-eight years so far and your mom never told you you could talk to birds?"

Sam stared back at him evenly. "I honestly can't tell if you're being serious right now."

"I am not."

Sam swore in disappointment.

Fury burst out laughing. "And here I thought you were supposed to be smart!"

"That sucks," Sam defended himself immediately. "That really sucks. That was not my fault; I don't care how smart I am, that was your fault!"

"All right, Mr. I-am-still-smart, why don't you take charge in getting us out of here?"

"Hey, I thought you were the master-spy. Why don't you prevent me from humiliating myself again, and I can take charge once we're in the air and I'm the expert, okay?"

"Boy, Captain American and I are not always going to be around every time you need broken out of prison."

Sam was rapidly giving up all hope of some father-son relationship with this guy. Not that he'd even had time to think about whether he wanted one or not, but…you _know?!_ "I mentioned before that you suck, right?"

"You think breaking out of here is going to be _hard?_ "

"Not for you!"

Fury snorted. "I've seen elephant poachers with higher security than this. They know it, too. They're probably just waiting for us to break out, for some reason. Which means we have to get out without them knowing we got out."

"Easy," Sam answered mockingly.

"Oh, there's always a way," Fury answered vaguely.

"Are those the magic words to open the door?"

"You see that crack in the ceiling?"

Same looked up. "You mean the one that's two centimeters wide?"

"Still a way," Fury shrugged.

"Yeah, if we had a couple of months to chisel away at it."

"So not the best way."

"I could've told you that."

"There's also a giant hole in the floor."

" _The hell?!""_

"Well, where do you think the water comes from?"

Sam was quiet for a long moment, trying to judge if Fury was serious. "You call THAT a way out?"

…

 **More to come…**

 **Let me know what you think! :D Seriously, I am so glad to be back and to keep writing for you, guys.**


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